


The Golden Light

by miss_mina_murray



Series: The Unwoven Tapestry [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Child Death, F/F, Inquisition rewrite, M/M, Slow Burn, dalish positivity, felassan saves thedas: the story, lavellan ain't taking anyone's shit, solas and his life full of bad decisions, that time cassandra had a five day panic attack because the world was ending, the au where solas has an actual cover story, the slowest of burns where those pairings are involved these people are dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-11-14 12:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 179,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11207664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_mina_murray/pseuds/miss_mina_murray
Summary: Bare your blade, and raise it high, for the lost shepherd is here to make his way home. The sky is rent, but all is not lost, as someone comes, bearing the sun in her hands.Behold!  Here is a tale of the dawn!





	1. And Find Silence

**Author's Note:**

> hi folks, and welcome to the sixth and final installment of the unwoven tapestry!

Arethin Lavellan came back to the world of the living slowly, and with a great deal more pain than she personally thought was necessary. Her left hand positively burned, pain lancing up her arm and all the way to her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see stone underneath her. 

That was very confusing, as when she had last gone to sleep she'd been under an open sky. Right now, however, she appeared to be indoors, and even more concerning, kneeling on a stone floor. 

She had quite certainly never gone to sleep like that before.

People around her were arguing. 

“Cassandra, we don't even know if it's her fault!” that was a Ferelden accent, but she didn't recognize the voice it belonged to.

“She was the only survivor, and she has that— _thing_ on her hand!” Nevarran, a woman's voice. 

“I don't really think that's solid proof. No one even knows what it is or how it's connected--”

“We've gone around and around this for days,” another woman's voice, Orlesian, and this one did sound a little familiar, but Arethin couldn't place it. “We won't know until—oh.”

The blurry shapes around her began to focus, and she blinked, becoming slowly aware of being in a dimly lit room. 

She tried to get to her feet, and found that her hands were shackled to the floor. That was very worrying. 

“ _You_!” someone grabbed the front of Arethin's tunic, and a woman's face swam into view. “How did you do this? Why?”

“How did I do what?” Arethin exclaimed. Her head spun. “What's going on?”

“Seeker, please,” that was a new voice, another man, with what sounded like a Frostbacks Dalish accent. “You can hardly question her unless you are certain her mind is undamaged.”

The woman let Arethin go and stood back, a sour expression on her face. Arethin looked around. The woman was golden-skinned and armored, with the insignia of the Seekers on her breastplate. There was also a redheaded woman with bone-pale skin, and a darker man who wore battered steel armor. The armor was covered in scratches and mud, but she could still make out a Templar insignia on it. 

The breath left her. She tried to move back, but found she couldn't. 

“I don't know why you've brought me here, Seeker,” she snarled, eyes riveted to the woman with the Seeker armor. “But I swear I--”

“Peace,” another person blocked her view. An elvhen man with a severe face looked deeply into her eyes, and took her chin, tilting her head one way and another. “We are not here to hurt you.”

She glared at the man. “Then why am I _shackled_ to the _floor_?”

“We are as unfamiliar with you as you are with us. Can you tell me your name?”

“I can.”

He waited. She said nothing.

The man sighed. “Seeker, I believe I informed you this would happen,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the armored woman.

The woman glared at him. “We don't know anything about her!” She exclaimed. 

“And she does not know us. You can hardly ask her anything if she is convinced you are here to kill her.” he looked back at Arethin. “I am Solas, if there are to be introductions,” he said. He gave her a tiny smile that might have been comforting were it not for how his brows knit together in worry. “These people are with Divine Justinia's Inquisition, and do not serve the Grand Cleric."

Arethin stared at him, and relaxed somewhat. 

“Well...good,” she said. “Mayhap get me untied, and I shall tell you my name.” 

Solas inclined his head. His hand moved towards hers, when the Seeker grabbed his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she growled.

“She is not a danger, at present,” Solas informed her, his tone frosty. 

“Cassandra,” the redheaded woman came over as well. “We must take her to one of the rifts at some point.”

Cassandra scowled, first at Arethin, then her companions, but let Solas undo Arethin's shackles from the floor.

Arethin looked down at her left hand, the one that hurt. 

A green slash burned across her palm, showing a searing green light, and she gasped, opening her hand to look more intently at it.

“What is this?” she murmured. 

“You do not know?” Cassandra growled.

“No, I don't!” Arethin snapped.

Solas took her hand. “It might be easier to explain this if we show you the Breach,” he said, looking the mark over with a critical eye. 

“What's the Breach? Where am I?”

Solas tilted his head to one side. “Where do you last remember being?”

“The Frostbacks,” she said. “I—I was on my way to the Conclave.”

Casandra narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Arethin glared at her. “If you must know, Keeper Lanaya Leanvunlas of the Dalish Coalition wished to send an observer to monitor the goings-on,” she snapped and straightened her back. “I am Ambassador Arethin Nadur Lavellan, and if you harm me--”

“The Dalish observer!” the redhead exclaimed. “Ah, of course!”

“What do you mean, 'of course?'”

“I am Sister Leliana,” the redhead stepped forward. “I am the one who put forth the suggestion to Keeper Lanaya that the Coalition send an observer. Please excuse us, I did not realize who you were.”

Leliana...that name sounded familiar... “The Nightingale?” Arethin asked.

Leliana inclined her head. 

“ _This_ is the observer?” Cassandra asked. 

“That does explain her being Dalish, when otherwise, no Dalish individual would be present,” Solas murmured. His expression was neutral but Arethin got the distinct impression he did not feel very highly of the company he kept. 

Cassandra sighed and shook her head. 

“You are of Justinia's group?” Arethin asked. She frowned. “Then—what happened? Where am I?”

“That...it might be easier simply to show you,” Cassandra said, her shoulders slumping.

“Why?” 

Again, they all glanced at each other, worry in their faces. Again, it was Solas who gave an explanation. 

“A magical event that currently there is no explanation for occurred,” he said. “You are connected to it, via the mark on your hand.”

She blinked.

“It really would be easier to show you,” he said. 

“Very well,” Arethin nodded. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a clearly borrowed set of clothing, not her travelling gear at all. She frowned. “Where are my clothes?” she asked. “My staff?”

“Damaged,” Cassandra gritted. “You will understand why when you see it.”

Arethin frowned to herself as she got to her feet. Even her boots weren't her own. She followed the others out of the room. Cassandra, Leliana and the third man stayed ahead of her, but Solas stuck by her side. 

“ _Do you speak Dalish_?” she asked him, in Dalish, hoping against hope that he did. A Dalish-sounding accent was no guarantee of being Dalish.

He inclined his head.

Some of the tension went out of her chest as she breathed a sigh of relief. “ _Are you from Clan Eirethelu_?” Eirethelu was the best Clan for spywork, with so many barefaced members. “ _I didn't hear there'd be any other observers, but--”_

 _“No, I am not,_ ” he said, responding in the same language. His accent was peculiar, his tone formal and his pronunciation strangely archaic. _“I am not Dalish.”_

She raised her eyebrows. _“You speak our tongue well enough.”_

 _“I--”_ he paused for a moment. _“I have studied both modern Dalish and old Elvhen. I know them both.”_

Interesting. “ _Are you one of the mages from the Grand Enchanter?”_

_“No.”_

Arethin raised her eyebrows. _“The loyal mages?”_ that would have been quite the surprise, no one had heard from the small loyal faction for months, ever since the siege of Val Royeaux. Still, it was possible.

_“No. I am an apostate—quite a solitary one.”_

_“Why--”_ she cut herself off when they got outside and she saw the sky.

There was a tear in the sky, like someone had taken the fabric of the world and ripped it in two, clouds swirling about like a hurricane. The pale green of the Fade seemed to bleed into the air, and through the tear she could see stars, and she stumbled suddenly, feeling dizzy.

“Creators,” she breathed.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said, also looking up at it. “An enormous rift into the Fade. The Breach is only the largest, but there are many rifts, many holes in the Veil.”

“What caused it?” Arethin asked. 

“Do you see that?” Cassandra pointed to a spot under the Breach, a strange gap in the mountain, like a piece of it had been carved away. “That is where the Temple of Sacred Ashes was.”

Arethin stared at the gap, then back at her. “Was?”

“It is no longer.” Cassandra's lips thinned. “The explosion that caused the Breach destroyed the Temple. That is what happened.”

“I don't remember--” she blinked. 

“Don't remember what?”

“The last thing I remember, I was—on the trail,” she said. “I was coming up the mountain, and then...” she blinked. “Nothing.” 

Cassandra sighed. “Do you know when it was?”

“Evening. Evening of—how long have I been...?”

“You were asleep for five days.”

Arethin looked at her in shock. Five days? She shook her head and looked up at the Breach. “What do we do about that?” she asked, trying to take her mind off of the problem of her memory.

“I don't know,” Cassandra said.

“Your mark is connected to it,” Solas sidled up beside her. “It is possible you can manipulate it, and even close the Breach.”

“Has no other magic been able to affect it?” Arethin asked. “Usually a mage can help with Veil damage--”

“None. It is damage to the Veil itself—as traumatic as any Veil damage could ever be. It is not magic caused by death, blood magic, or summoning a spirit.”

“What would you liken it to, then?” 

Solas regarded her, his gray eyes serious. “As if someone reached into the Veil and tore it. Manipulated it directly, if such a thing could be touched.”

Arethin swallowed. She held up her hand, examining the mark upon it. It shone with a faint light, pale and green. “Here—show me to one of these rifts.” she said. “Perhaps this can fix it.” the mark pulsed faintly, and she winced.

Cassandra nodded. The three of them walked past peasants and soldiers, some of whom glared at Arethin, but most prayed or wept, staring at the sky.

“They blame you for Justinia's death,” Cassandra murmured, glancing at one of the soldiers.

“Why?” Arethin asked. 

“They believe you are the one that killed her.”

“But I did not.”

“Perhaps you did,” Cassandra looked at her, brows knit in thought. “You do not know.”

“I would not have,” Arethin growled. “But regardless—I know of nothing that can do that to the Veil. Why would I even wish to?” 

“I do not know,” Cassandra said. “And neither do they.”

There was a huge booming sound, like an explosion, and Arethin was driven to her knees with the pain that shot through her marked hand. Someone put their hand on her shoulder, and she struggled for breath.

After a long moment, the pain stopped. She gasped in relief. Solas, who had been the one to steady her, helped her to her feet. 

“It expanded again,” Cassandra murmured. Everyone was staring up at the sky, towards the Breach, where indeed it was noticeably bigger.

“Expanded?” Arethin said, chest heaving in an effort to catch her breath, as she stared up at the sky. Her hand still ached.

“It has been expanding since it opened,” Solas said, his expression hard. “Five days ago, it still appeared manageable.”

“With each expansion, your mark spreads,” Cassandra said, pointing to how Arethin's mark had crept a bit up her palm. “That, too, was once smaller.”

Arethin shuddered, pulling her borrowed coat closer around her. She glanced at Solas as they started walking again.

“ _If you are an apostate, where do you come from? Why are you here_?” she asked him.

 _“I am from a village to the north,_ ” he explained. As he spoke, she was struck again by how peculiar his accent was. She'd never heard the like, not even from city elves or Circle elves who converted to the Dalish. She had even known a Tal-Vashoth who had learned Dalish, and she'd never sounded like that. _“I am—do you know somniari?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Then you know it can be dangerous for somniari to be around people, especially those more ignorant of magic.”_ his mouth twisted.

 _“Sometimes,_ ” she said. _“Not always.”_

He raised his eyebrows at her. “ _Then you are more well informed than most people on the subject.”_

She shrugged, uncertain what to say to that. They tried to cross a stone bridge when a projectile from the Breach struck it, falling like a meteor, and collapsed the bridge. The three of them fell onto the icy river below. 

Arethin landed hard on her side, and scrambled to her feet. Cassandra was already up and with her sword and shield out, fighting a Despair demon. 

Arethin gaped. 

“That...” she murmured. “That isn't right.”

“No,” Solas agreed. He rubbed his arm with a wince, and there was the soft glow of healing magic that meant he had injured it. He took his staff off his back and headed towards the demon. 

Arethin had no staff, so she drew a spectral sword from the air—a handy arcane warrior trick that precluded a staff. Another Despair demon approached her, and she held her hand out, trying to think thoughts that weren't despairing. 

The demon advanced upon her, and she shot an unfocused spell at it, catching it on fire. Fire tended to ward them off. Despite the fire, it radiated cold, and she could hear crying, like a baby or an injured animal. She shuddered, and it wailed, coming at her despite still being lit aflame. She slammed it with her sword, and it shattered into several thousand pieces. 

She took several deep breaths, and realized that Cassandra and Solas had finished off the other demon. 

“I think we're done for now,” Arethin said.

Cassandra saw the sword in her hand and rounded on her. “Drop your weapon!” she commanded.

“Seeker, she was merely defending herself,” Solas said. 

“She does not need a weapon!”

“I think you'll find that I very much do,” Arethin growled, leveling her gaze at Cassandra. “But regardless--”

She dispersed the sword, and Cassandra's expression grew, if possible, even angrier. Arethin ignored her and cast about for a staff. Spectral swords were useful, but a physical staff was much more reliable. 

“I see you use knight-enchanter methods,” Cassandra said, glaring fiercely.

“Arcane warrior,” Arethin corrected, matching Cassandra's glare with one of her own. “Do you have a problem with that?” she tilted her head to one side. “Or do you want me to be killed by a demon? We can arrange that but I hardly think anyone here would like it.”

Cassandra stared at her for a long moment, then sighed and sheathed her blade. “Fine,” she gritted. “It is clear I alone cannot protect you.” she looked up at the broken bridge. 

“The nearest rift is in that direction,” Solas said, pointing down the river. “There are quite a large number of rifts. We don't need to go far to test the mark.”

“That is certainly true,” Cassandra said, closing her eyes. 

Arethin shuddered. Now that she was paying attention, the Veil felt torn and rent, with small holes in it everywhere. Spirits pressed close, some curious, but she could feel hostility as well. The air was charged with emotions, and it was...claustrophobic. 

She finally located a discarded staff and picked it up, then looked up to the sky. “Are more spirits falling from that, or coming from the rifts?” she asked. 

“We have not exactly counted which,” Cassandra said. “The Breach spits out everything, not merely demons—look there!” she pointed at another falling star. “That could be a demon, or a stone, or a statue.”

“A statue?”

Cassandra shrugged. 

“A large statue fell from the Breach and damaged one of the walls around Haven,” Solas explained quietly. “It seems anything can fall from it. Normally, only spirits come through tears in the Veil, but this one is so large that all the structures of the Fade are possible.”

Arethin stared up at the Breach, amber eyes wide. “I see,” she said. “Come, then, show me this rift.”

The continued forward, along the icy river, and were greeted with a few more demons which they were able to dispatch. Cassandra still seemed very sour that Arethin had access to a weapon, but she said no more on the subject.

They came to a set of stone stairs that lead from the river back up to the main path, and went up those as quickly as they could.

“Hurry!” Cassandra said. “I can hear fighting—some of our people must be at the rift!”

Arethin heard a strange cracking sound, and smelled something like lavender and summer grass, and felt an inexplicable warm breeze--

They came to the rift. It was a rent in the open air, as if someone had taken a great knife and parted the world. 

There were demons that surrounded it, all hostile, and several people fought with the demons.

Arethin assisted in the fight, bringing up a wall of fire to drive the demons back. Cassandra charged forward again, slamming a demon with her shield. Solas hung back, and a tingling on Arethin's skin told her that he'd cast a barrier on her. 

Finally, the fight was over.

Arethin looked up at the rift, breathing heavily. She lowered her staff.

Her hand ached. 

“What...what do I do?” she asked. 

“Whatever you do, you must do it quickly!” Cassandra said.

“I don't know how it works!” she snapped.

Solas took her hand and held it up to the rift. His brow furrowed in concentration. 

She felt—something. Like she had plunged her arm into a hot bath. She could feel something almost like cloth under her fingers, and she clenched her fist, as if pulling the cloth together in her hand. With another _crack_ , the rift sealed up, leaving only droplets of lavender-scented water behind.

The both of them stepped back, slightly off-balance, and Solas let go of her hand.

“How did you do that?” she asked him. 

“I did nothing,” he said. "The credit is yours."

“Then why did you take my hand?” 

“I thought it was possible that the energy of another mage might have been needed,”he said. “Fortunately, this was not the case. It seems proximity is enough to at least begin the process of closing the rifts.”

“I suppose...” she looked down at her hand. It still ached, and the mark glimmered, like she held a light in her palm.

“Good, you can close smaller rifts,” Cassandra said, her tone businesslike. “We must go to the forward camp. Leliana will meet us there, and we can get to the Temple.” 

“That was a pretty good show,” a dwarf with red hair came up to them, putting a large crossbow on his back. “Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever.” 

“Tethras,” Cassandra said. “Why are you still here?”

“Well, I couldn't exactly leave, not with the valley in the state it is,” he said. “I stayed here till the demons started coming through, then I really couldn't leave.” his gaze landed on Arethin. “Varric Tethras,” he introduced himself with a grin. “Storyteller and unwelcome tagalong extrodinaire, when I'm not busy being unlawfully held prisoner.” 

Arethin nodded. “Arethin Nadur Lavellan, First to Clan Lavellan.” she furrowed her brow. The name Tethras sounded familiar. “Do you—are you a friend of Keeper Merrill's?” she asked. 

Varric's face lit up. “You know her!” he exclaimed. 

“Of course.”

“We must continue,” Cassandra interrupted. “Varric, your help is appreciated, but—you should have been gone days ago.” 

“What, and miss all this?” Varric half laughed. “You need all the help you can get, Seeker.” 

Cassandra growled, clearly annoyed, but Arethin knew they had to push on. 

“If he wishes to help, I see no reason not to allow it,” Arethin said. “Come with us, Master Tethras.”

“I see you're about as casual as Chuckles over here,” Varric nodded to Solas as they began to make their way down the slippery, ice-covered slope to the river. 

“Are there more demons closer to the Breach?” Arethin asked.

Solas nodded. “The Veil is more damaged the closer one comes,” he said. “The fighting is worse there.”

“Is it only demons, or is there anyone else?”

“Only demons, so far.”

“Would you be expecting anything else?” Varric asked, inspecting his crossbow as they made their way along the path.

“Perhaps,” Solas said. “A large number of beings reside in the Fade, not simply demons.”

Varric snorted. “Not in my experience.”

The path went back down to the frozen river. On the bank, there were several small houses that were built in the foot of the mountain, smoldering with green fire. There weren't any people there, fortunately, and no bodies. 

Less fortunately, there more demons drifting about. Without any targets, they were aimless, but once they spotted Arethin and her companions, they headed straight for them. 

Cassandra immediately charged forward, as was becoming her habit, slamming her shield on a large Rage demon who spat and hissed at her before she swiped at it with her sword. Both Solas and Varric hung back, Solas casting barriers and defensive spells, Varric using his crossbow to great effect.

Arethin got in close with Cassandra. Besides her spectral sword, she knew enough of the arcane warriors to shield her from physical blows and to reduce the distance needed to make her spells effective. 

“You do not fight like most mages I have known,” Cassandra said when the battle was finished and she was sheathing her sword. Her gaze was suspicious, her dark eyes narrowed at Arethin. “How is it that you know knight-enchanter—ah, arcane warrior spells?”

Arethin shrugged. “My Clan has found a great deal of magical techniques not taught in Circles,” she explained, and elaborated no further. Cassandra hardly needed to know the ins and outs of her Clan's magical traditions.

On the other side of the river, the path went back up, winding its way up the mountain. Arethin had a peculiar feeling, as if her mind had forgotten walking this path but her feet remembered. She shuddered, not wanting to think on why that might be.

They came to another rift, right before the forward camp. This one brought a strange smell like seawater, and the area around it was warm enough to melt the snow. This time, Arethin brought her hand up, and she could feel more distinctly where the break in the Veil was. 

She bit her lip, and brought her fingers together, as if pinching the Veil closed. There was that strange sensation of her bones humming for a moment, and then the rift was gone. 

She stared down at her hand. 

“Are you alright?” Solas asked her. 

“Fine,” she said, but it still troubled her that she did not know how the mark worked. The magic of it felt very alien, and she did not like the sensation.

“Come,” Cassandra urged them forward. “Let us continue.”

The forward camp was placed on another tall bridge, and they found Leliana arguing with a man in the dress of a Chantry brother.

Before they could get to her, however, a tall Vashoth woman blocked their path, looking urgent.

“Seeker, please, have you found--?”

“No, Serah Adaar, we haven't found anyone else,” Cassandra sighed. “I am sorry.”

Adaar's face crumpled. She looked at Arethin. “Hey—you're the one who came out of the Temple,” her voice cracked. “Did you see—any other Vashoth? Like me?”

Arethin shook her head. “I'm sorry. I don't remember.” she hadn't seen any Vashoth around camp, either.

“You came out of the temple?” a dwarven man with long brown hair hurried up to them. “Did you see my sister? A dwarf, like me, but--”

“No, I didn't see anyone!” Arethin exclaimed. 

The dwarf huffed in frustration. “Seeker Cassandra--”

“No, we haven't found her either, Ser Cadash,” Cassandra said. “If you will please let us pass--”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Adaar rubbed her face and stood aside.

“You're a _Seeker_!” Cadash bellowed at Cassandra's back. “So, your job is to _find_ people!”

Cassandra shook her head, but didn't respond.

“Who are they?” Arethin asked.

“Just a few of many people who are looking for those lost in the Conclave,” Cassandra said with a sigh. They came to the table where Leliana and the man argued.

“We must pull back--” the man insisted.

“And where would we go?” Leliana demanded. “The Inquisition is here to restore order—we cannot do that from afar.”

“And we can't do that if we all get killed by these demons!”

They looked up when they saw Cassandra approach. The man's face soured when he saw Arethin.

“Leliana, where is Barris?” Cassandra asked.

“Holding a line at the Temple entrance,” Leliana said. 

“You must retreat, Seeker,” the Chantry man snapped.

“Retreat? We cannot retreat now!” Cassandra exclaimed. “The Breach expanded not an hour ago--”

“All the more reason for us to pull back to a sensible distance!”

“And leave the Breach to grow?” Leliana demanded. 

Cassandra nodded. “There are so many demons—we cannot have them getting out. Who would prevent their escape if we pull out now?” 

“We cannot hold this position!” the Chancellor insisted. 

Cassandra ignored him and whirled to Arethin. “You,” she said. “You may close the rifts, and might effect the Breach.” her lip curled, but she pressed on. “What do you think?”

Arethin sighed and shook her head. “The more people you have there, the worse it will become,” she said, leaning forward. “You need to pull your people out of there and quarantine it.”

The Chantry man stared at her. 

“Pull out?” Cassandra demanded. “How can we, when--”

“High emotions influence spirits, Seeker,” Solas said. “The thinner the Veil is and the more people there are, the more the spirits are influenced, usually for the worse. Mistress Lavellan is correct in suggesting a quarantine.”

“We can't do that,” Cassandra snapped. “Not with the Breach—” 

“I don't mean abandoning the Breach,” Arethin clarified, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Just get move all your people away from the immediate area. You just need everyone away from there, or anyone that tries to get closer will be attacked by demons.” 

Leliana and Cassandra exchanged a look. 

"We might be able to get everyone back,” Leliana said. “At least—for as long as it will take you to close the Breach.”

“If I can.”

Leliana inclined her head. “If you can.”

Arethin sighed and ran a hand over her head. “Very well,” she said. “How do I get to the temple?”

“We can go to Barris, at the front,” Cassandra said. “That is the quickest route--”

“But not the safest.” Leliana said. “The mountain pass would avoid the majority of the demons, as far as we know.” she turned around and pointed up to the mountain, tracing out the route. “It leads to an old mining complex, and is more sheltered than the other path.”

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path!” Cassandra exclaimed. “How can that be the safer option?” 

“Wait—what if this woman is responsible?” the Chantry man interjected. “She was a prisoner not three hours ago!”

“If I was responsible, why would I be trying to fix it?” Arethin growled. 

“The Dalish hostilities are well known--” 

“Excuse me, are you accusing me of an act of war?” Arethin asked, leaning forward over the table.

“No,” Leliana looked sharply at the man. “Roderick, we have this under control.”

“But she was the only survivor--”

“We are dealing with it, Chancellor,” Cassandra growled. 

“On your own head be it,” the Chancellor grumbled with a dark look towards Arethin. 

“As I was saying,” Cassandra tossed one lass scowl in Roderick's direction. “One of our squads has not reported back to us since going that way—how is it safer?”

“Fewer people means fewer demons,” Arethin reasoned. “They might have just had communication problems.”

“Exactly,” Leliana nodded. “Going to the front of the Temple exposes you to far more demons than is wise.”

“I can take the mountain route, but if it takes longer, the Breach might expand again,” Arethin said. 

“That's entirely possible,” Solas interjected. “It would be best if you got there swiftly.”

Arethin nodded, frowning to herself.

“But if we lose you, we're kind of out of luck,” Varric said. “Might want to go with safety on this one.”

“True,” Arethin said. “Very well. We shall take the mountain pass.”

Cassandra knew the way, and they left, over the Chancellor's loud objections. 

The trek up to the mountain pass was not interrupted by any demons, which gave Arethin the chance to examine her new companions more closely. In the rush of things, she'd barely even had time to get their names. Looking at them now, she didn't think she liked what she saw. All three of them looked exhausted, their clothes in some disarray, their steps heavy. 

Businesslike Cassandra was not wearing full armor or a helmet, instead a hastily strapped on breastplate over a plain tunic and leggings. Her black hair stuck up in all directions and she had dark circles under her eyes. Her golden-brown skin was sallow and greasy, as if she had had little opportunity to wash her face. Every once in a while, she would roll her shoulder, as if she had overextended it or was trying to work out a knot.

Varric was at least dressed for the weather in that he had a coat and gloves on, but he wasn't exactly the best prepared for battle, lacking even leather armor. His coat and tunic were both undone, exposing him to the cold, but he hardly noticed, firmly occupied with the task ahead. Like Cassandra, he had deep circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were tense. There was a cut on his chin and a bruise on one cheek. He was somewhat thin under his heavy coat, and his face was gaunt in a way that she didn't like.

Clothing-wise, Solas was in the worse shape of all four of them, without so much as a coat, or armor, or even boots. Instead of shoes he had only an old-fashioned set of footwraps, the sort of thing one wore indoors or in the summer. His gray eyes were red from exhaustion, his sharp face pinched and drawn. His skin was already light, but had acquired the grayish hue of too many sleepless nights, and his gaze frequently darted up to the Breach in the sky. 

All three of them appeared well enough to fight and continue on for the moment, but Arethin made a mental note to keep an eye on them. If she was to be fighting at the side of these people, they needed to be healthy. If they had been her Clanmates, she would have ordered all three of them go back to bed instead of go on a winter hike to hunt demons, but considering the circumstances, that wasn't exactly possible.

The mining complex had not escaped the demons, but they were mostly wisps and smaller things that were easy to deal with. Arethin's skin prickled as they picked their way through the tunnels, indicating a weakness in the Veil, but there was no rift nearby.

At the mouth of the tunnel, they found the bodies of three people, all dressed in the armor she had seen the other soldiers wearing.

“Guess we know what happened to the soldiers...” Varric muttered, shaking his head.

“This cannot be all of them,” Cassandra said with a frown. 

“Perhaps there will be more up ahead,” Solas suggested.

As they made their way further down the path, Arethin could see the place where the Temple was supposed to be. When she first came here, Arethin had seen the Temple from afar, and it had been a huge and magnificent structure, towering over the valley. She had heard stories of a dragon once nesting there, and knew that the Warden-Commander had once been there to retrieve a powerful magical artifact.

Now there was nothing, a gaping hole where the building should have been, as obvious as a missing limb, the Breach swirling high overhead.

The Temple had been completely obliterated by the explosion. The ruins extended out almost a mile, shards of stone and glass peppering the snow and making travel hazardous. Arethin spared a glance for Solas, who was picking his way through the snow, careful to avoid anything sharp. 

Arethin shuddered, the idea of going barefoot here making her toes curl involuntarily. A cut or a sprain here would be dangerous.

She caught the strangest scent of flowers on the air, and realized that a rift must be up ahead. She hurried forward, her companions close at her back, and saw a rift surrounded by a group of people who were battling demons. They must have been the rest of the missing scouts, although they didn't seem to be very missing at the moment.

This rift was small but persistently spitting out demons, and Arethin's companions had to fight them back in order for her to get close enough to close the rift. 

This rift was cold, or at least cool enough that the snow around it remained unmelted. It was less resistant to her mark, or perhaps she was simply becoming better at closing them, because it sealed shut fairly quickly under her hand.

“You are becoming quite proficient at this,” Solas remarked when the rift was shut at last.

“Let's hope it works on the big one,” Varric said, eyeing the Breach with trepidation. 

Cassandra went to the side of one of the scouts, who was getting to her feet after having been knocked over by a demon.

“Seeker Cassandra, I'm sorry,” the scout said to Cassandra. She was panting hard and leaning on her sword. “Those demons pinned us down—thank you so much for coming--”

“It is not me you should thank,” Cassandra gestured to Arethin. “She was the one who insisted we come this way.”

The scout blinked at Arethin. “The prisoner?”

“Not a prisoner at the moment, as you can well see,” Arethin informed her.

“Of course, my lady,” the scout nodded. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” 

The path down to the ruins grew more hazardous as they continued, larger slabs of rock, twisted metal and broken glass littering the slope. 

Arethin shook her head—she had never seen anything like this devastation. In the snow, she spotted a huge statue, twice her height, broken and torn from its moorings. It had probably been a statue of Andraste at one time, but the arms were broken off and the face was destroyed. She could only marvel at the amount of force that had thrown it so far. 

They met a man in Templar armor at the border of the proper ruins, where the debris ended and the foundations of the temple began. Arethin recognized him as one of the people who had been there when she had first awoken, the man who had never been introduced.

“Barris,” Cassandra inclined her head. “How is everything here?”

Barris shook his head. “Not good,” he said, his tone grim. Now that Arethin had a chance to really look at him, he had dark circles under his eyes, and a cut on one cheek. He was ashen under his mahogany skin, a sure sign of exhaustion. He glanced at her. “Will you be able to fix this?” he asked.

“I couldn't say,” she looked up at the sky. “But I shall try.”

Barris nodded. “Well—there's going to be demons in there,” he said. “Are you sure you don't need us to--”

“You will make it worse,” Arethin said, looking back down and meeting his eyes. “The Veil is in shreds—more people will just draw more spirits.”

Barris sighed. “Master Solas and the other mages told us that too,” he said, nodding at Solas. “But we thought we might have been able to cut the demons off at the source. Not so?”

“Nothing but the mark will affect the rifts, Ser Barris,” Solas said. “I assume you have tried?”

“Over and over again,” Barris said. “It never worked.”

“But her mark worked the first time,” Solas nodded at Arethin. “She stands the best chance of repairing this.”

Barris seemed skeptical, but agreed. “Whatever you're going to do, do it quickly,” he said. “We can't let this go on any longer than it's already done.”

Arethin nodded. “Absolutely,” she agreed.

He sighed deeply and stood aside to let them pass. 

“When Leliana arrives, let her in,” Cassadra instructed him. “But no one else.”

They came onto a blasted plain. Arethin saw twisted structures she recognized, but only vaguely, as if they were from a dream. What she noticed most was the ground. Something had burned so hot that the dirt and sand had been turned to black glass.

That wasn't the worst of it, however.

The worst of it was the bodies, burned in an instant, some with veilfire clinging to them. Veilfire refused to go out. They seemed mummified, preserved, like the hands of someone's nightmares had reached out and shaped them into this. 

“Creators...” Arethin breathed. 

“You walked out here,” Cassandra said, her voice low. “You just—when we could get close, when the fire had died, we saw you, walking out of the temple. That thing on your hand, but no other injuries. Everyone around you was dead.”

Arethin didn't say anything.

“They say they saw a woman in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.” Cassandra's tone was almost dreamlike.

“I don't remember,” Arethin said, looking down at one of the bodies. Green fire burned in its eyesockets. “I can't remember anything.” 

“Perhaps it is good you don't remember that part,” Cassandra said, her voice so quiet Arethin had to strain to hear it. 

They had to carefully make their way through the ruins, through the half-destroyed temple. Down a set of steps and through a collapsed hall, they came out to a large open space that had once been a great chamber. 

At the center of the chamber was the first rift. This rift was strange, the clear source of the Breach, magic reaching up into the sky and pulling it open. The first rift wasn't like the others, it seemed only half-open. Arethin could only liken it to a bone that had set wrong, or a wound whose stitches were half-pulled out. 

A breeze blew past them, and Arethin could smell oranges. 

She wanted to be sick. 

“That is the first rift,” Solas said. “If you can open it again, it can be sealed properly and safely, and with luck, that will seal the Breach.” 

“If I open it, more spirits will come,” Arethin said.

“Then we must work quickly.”

“Seeker...” they glanced at Varric, and saw that he examined a strange outcropping of red rock.

“What is it?” Cassandra asked, coming to his side. He held an arm out, stopping her from getting much closer to the rock.

“Red lyrium,” he growled. 

“Red lyrium?” Arethin gasped. “What's it doing here?”

Varric shook his head, his expression troubled. “I don't know,” 

“Could the explosion have opened a vein--?” Cassandra asked, her brow knitted in worry.

“Is the Temple built on any Deep Roads?” Varric asked. “It would have to be pretty far down.” 

Cassandra shook her head. “I do not know,” she admitted.

“Is it possible that a red lyrium artifact was here?” Arethin asked. “Are you sure it wasn't here before?” she eyed the red lyrium warily. Queen Aeducan had essentially declared a quarantine on Kirkwall because of the red lyrium artifacts there. Her gaze traveled up the rocky outcropping. It was quite large, grown into the shattered rock and stone of the Temple. It had a strange red haze about it, and was so hot that, like many of the rifts, it had melted the snow around it.

“I—I do not believe so,” Cassandra said. 

“Maybe someone brought an artifact here,” Varric shook himself. “Come on—we have to try and close that Breach, don't we?”

“How are we going to get down there?” Arethin looked at the chamber. They stood on what was now a balcony, and the blast had thoroughly destroyed any steps that lead downwards, leaving a five-foot drop if they wanted to get any closer.

Leliana came around the corner, bringing with her several battered soldiers. Leliana herself had a bow slung over her shoulder, and her hood had come off, revealing mussed red hair.

“You're here!” she exclaimed, relieved. “Good.” 

“We were attempting to figure out how to get closer,” Cassandra said.

“Here,” Leliana took a rope that one of the soldiers offered. “Use this. We can risk no accidents.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Arethin said, before she remembered to speak in Common and added “Thank you.” 

Leliana simply nodded. Cassandra tied the rope to a nearby abandoned banister and they climbed down into the pit. First Arethin, then Cassandra, Varric, and Solas, and then Leliana and her soldiers followed as well. 

They approached the rift, and immediately Arethin could feel the change in the Veil. It was strange and warped, almost rotten feeling. She shuddered, and a voice boomed around them. 

_“Keep the sacrifice still,”_

Arethin flinched at the sound of the voice. It was deep, so deep it made her bones shudder, and it scraped at the back of her mind. Everyone looked around, but could see no source for the sound.

_“Leave me, monster!”_

That was a woman's voice, thickly accented and desperate.

“Where is that coming from?” Varric asked.

“That's the Most Holy,” Cassandra breathed. “That's her voice!”

_“What in the name of all the Creators--?”_

Arethin started. That was _her_ voice, saying words she never remembered. 

“That's your voice!” Cassandra exclaimed. “You were there!”

“I don't remember,” Arethin insisted.

They got closer, and the shadows began to move around them, defying the sunlight. A shadowy figure with burning eyes towered over them, and before it was another figure of white light. 

“What is this?” Cassandra demanded, taking Arethin's shoulder. “What are we seeing?”

“I don't know!” Arethin snapped, shaking Cassandra off.

“Memories from this place,” Solas said. He was calm, in spite of the strangeness, far calmer than Cassandra or Varric. “The Fade bleeds into this world, providing the memories and feelings that were most recent.”

Another figure was formed, this one both shadow and light, and Arethin recognized the vague shape of her own armor. 

_“There is an intruder,_ ” the man with burning eyes drawled. “ _Slay the elf_.” he pointed with one long, clawed finger.

Arethin saw her shadow-self back up, holding out a staff. 

_“No—run while you can!_ ” Justinia's shape exclaimed. “ _Warn them!”_

The shapes faded into an indistinguishable mass once more. 

“Most Holy called out to you for help,” Cassandra breathed. 

“I don't remember,” Arethin said again, shaking her head. “I don't remember anything at all.” 

“We cannot examine these memories now,” Solas said, pointing up to the rift. “You must devote your attention to that.”

Arethin nodded. She squared her shoulders, and raised her hand to the rift.

A horrible smell, oranges and rotting meat and hot metal, assaulted her nose as she tried to pry the Veil apart. Her stomach churned, and she felt woozy, different memories bursting into her mind all at once, as if someone was rifling through her thoughts.

_Summer with the Clan in Antiva—a town attacked by bandits—the first time she saw a smithy--_

She concentrated, and tore the rift open down the middle. 

_“Here,” she said. “Have you ever had an orange before?”_

The world around her bent, and she realized something had come out of the rift. She could hear fighting, but didn't dare tear her focus away from the rift. 

_The town burned, and they smelled the smoke from miles away--“should we go near it? We always trade with them, we should at least see if they're alright--”_

Very slowly, she tried to stitch the Veil back together. It was almost like real cloth, and she suddenly remembered the smell of silk pressed against her cheek--

_She'd never even seen silk before, just wool and leather, and it was so fine and smooth, like holding water that someone had woven--_

“Lavellan!” Solas touched her shoulder for just an instant, bringing her back to the world. “ _Concentrate!”_

“I _am,_ ” she growled, and she clenched her fist and yanked, as if working a thread through a piece of leather. She did it again, and again, and overhead the Breach spat and cracked, and she did it again, but it still wouldn't close, and she did it again, and her legs went out from under her--

Again--

The world went gray--

_Again--_

She wasn't _done--_

_Once, when she was a child, the craftsmaster had given her a puzzle. It was a curious object, or so she thought, a box of interlocking pieces. The trick to the puzzle was just to pull the pieces apart, however, they were caught and snagged in such a way that it was a bit like trying to untangle a wooden knot._

_“Fascinating,” a voice murmured, and she looked up. By her side a massive white wolf sat, watching her try to undo the puzzle._

_She stared up at the wolf. It had six sky-blue eyes, three on either side of its head. “What are you doing here?” she asked._

_“Trying to solve the puzzle.”_

_“Oh.” she glanced down at the puzzle in her hand. The pieces seemed to shift and meld until she could hardly tell them apart, much less undo them. “Do wolves like puzzles?” she wasn't aware that they did._

_“Some of them do.”_

_“I see.”_


	2. Moments of Transition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pharamond just kinda ran around curing all the tranquil willy-nilly, no permission needed (also he and evangeline got married)
> 
> the dalish have a whole language, it's just not elvhen. there is no reason they wouldn't have one

Arethin opened her eyes. She lay on a bed, which was rather a novelty. 

She groaned and sat up. She hurt absolutely everywhere, the kind of bone-deep ache one got from doing a great magical working and draining themselves of mana. For a moment, she couldn't remember why exactly she felt that way.

Then, with a feeling of sudden urgency, she recalled the Breach.

She leapt to her feet and bolted out the door, almost bowling over one poor girl who bore a basket of laundry in her hands. She stood outside the small cabin she'd in placed in, and stared at the sky.

She let out a breath. The Breach was still there, its light an unnatural rival to the sun. 

“Ah, Fen'harel take it,” she cursed in Dalish. 

The girl she'd almost flattened came up behind her. “Um—excuse me? Your Ladyship?”

Arethin turned. “Ladyship?”

“Oh—um—your Worship, I—I'm sorry--”

“ _Worship?”_

The poor girl looked petrified and went to her knees. “Um—um--”

“Oh, Creators,” Arethin exclaimed, mouth going dry. She grabbed the girl's hand and hauled her to her feet. “Now stop that—you hardly need to be in the snow. It's—I am not either of those things, I assure you. Can you tell me what's going on?”

The girl averted her eyes. “Um—the Breach stopped growin', my lady,” she said. “You—you saved us.”

“I don't think I did,” Arethin said, staring at the Breach. “It's still there.”

“I...um...” 

Arethin sighed. “Who's in charge? Is Cassandra still here? I need to get back at that thing--”

“Seeker Cassandra said you needed to see her when you woke up. She's up in the Chantry, that way--” the girl pointed to a small stone Chantry high up on the hill. 

“Thank you,” Arethin said. At the girl's confused look, she added “Thank you, I mean,” in Common.

“Um—you're welcome,” the girl said, her voice almost a whisper. “Um...you might want to get dressed.”

Arethin looked down at herself and realized she wore only a tunic and leggings. With a start, she curled her toes. She had been so distracted she'd left the building without so much as a pair of shoes.

She sighed, left the girl and went back inside to hunt down a coat and some boots. The girl followed her, and quietly pointed her to the cabinet that held the things she was searching for. 

Properly attired, Arethin went to hunt for Cassandra. 

She had awoken inside a small encampment surrounded by hastily built walls. She recalled that it was the same place she had woken in the first time, but now when she passed people, they did not glare or curse at her. They continued to stare, but they seemed more in awe of her than anything. Some dropped to their knees, like the serving girl. Others genuflected or bowed, or averted their eyes. 

It was...strange. 

The Chantry was the largest building there, made all of white stone and catching the sunlight, but it was still positively dowdy when one compared it to the splendor that had been the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She pushed the large double-doors of the Chantry open, and immediately heard Cassandra arguing loudly with someone in a room at the end of the main hall. 

She located the room, and found Cassandra, Leliana, Barris, the Chancellor and another woman Arethin didn't recognize all fighting with each other. 

They fell silent as soon as Arethin walked in.

The Chancellor glared. “You,” he snapped. “Seeker, what do you plan to do about her?” he demanded. “She killed the Divine, and--”

“She did not,” Cassandra snapped. “I heard the voices in the Temple, Chancellor. Most Holy called out to her for help.”

“But she didn't help the Most Holy, did she?”

“I am also the only person who can affect those rifts,” Arethin snapped. “What's going on? The Breach has stopped expanding, but--”

“But it's still there,” Barris said with a sigh. “Yes.” 

Arethin began to pace. “What do you plan to do now?” she asked.

“Put you on trial, for crimes against the Chantry,” Roderick snapped.

“Have a care, Chancellor,” Cassandra growled. “She is by no means the only suspect.”

“She would hardly have any reason, or means, to do what was done at the Temple,” Leliana said. 

“I believe the Dalish have made their hostility towards the Chantry quite well known!” the Chancellor hissed. 

“What would we possibly gain by killing your Divine?” Arethin demanded. “We came here to _observe_ —the war between the Chantry and the mages threatens us as well as you!” she shook her head. “Anyway, why would we attack Justinia when we could have attacked Themis--”

“Grand Cleric Elthina,” Cassandra growled. 

“Fine. She is still alive, isn't she?”

“She is,” Cassandra muttered.

“There, you see?” Arethin said, folding her arms. “What would my people have to gain from attacking Justinia, when the other one hasn't had a hand laid on her?”

“There is no other one,” Cassandra snapped. 

“That isn't the issue. The Breach is still open and—”

“And we need to retreat,” the Chancellor said.

“We have already retreated,” Cassandra said. “As Mistress Lavellan advised, we quarantined the area, but we cannot abandon the site entirely!”

“Why could you not close the Breach?” Leliana spoke up. “What prevented you?”

“It's too big,” Arethin said. “The others were small. This one...” she shook her head. “I need more power,” she said. “Perhaps—perhaps if we had other mages who could all focus on one thing--”

“Who are you to issue demands?” Roderick demanded with a sneer.

“Chancellor, that is enough,” Cassandra snapped. “You do not have authority here—we do, and we say she is innocent.”

“So her survival, that—thing on her hand—all a coincidence?”

“No,” Cassandra looked at Arethin. “Providence.”

Roderick snorted, and Arethin went cold. 

“Ridiculous,” Roderick waved a hand.

Cassandra advanced on him. “We have the authority to act from Divine Justinia,” she snarled. “We have the only individual here who can affect the rifts in any way. We will find those responsible, and they will be held accountable for their actions.”

Roderick quailed under her glare. When she was done, he straightened at last. “On your own head be it,” he said, and left.

Roderick slammed the door on his way out. Cassandra sighed.

“That certainly won't make him happy,” the unfamiliar woman spoke up for the first time.

“I do not care,” Cassandra said.

“I'm sorry—we haven't been introduced,” Arethin said, tearing her eyes away from Cassandra to look at the unfamiliar woman. She had the brown skin of an Antivan, and light, almost butterscotch colored eyes. She wore a yellow dress—expensive cloth by the looks of it—and her long dark hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her head. “You are--?”

“Josephine Montilyet,” the woman smiled. “Ander'an atish'an,” 

Arethin raised her eyebrows, surprised. “You speak Dalish?”

“You've just heard all I know, I'm afraid,” Josephine sighed. 

“That's more than most,” Arethin assured her. “Now—what do we do next? We need to contact the Dalish Coalition regardless, and--”

“The Dalish?” Cassandra exclaimed. “Why?”

“Perhaps they would like to know that their observer is alive and has not been kidnapped by Chantry radicals?” Arethin suggested, her voice very dry. “And perhaps people might be a little bit interested in the possible complete breakdown of the Veil.”

Cassandra sighed. 

“Unless I _have_ been kidnapped by Chantry radicals?” 

“Of course not,” Cassandra said. 

“Well—Grand Cleric Elthina might consider the Inquisition radical,” Josephine piped up.

“Inquisition?” Arethin raised her eyebrows. She drummed her fingers on the table, nervous. “I suppose things are bad enough that you might call for one.”

“You know what an Inquisition is?” Cassandra asked.

“Of course.” Cassandra still looked surprised, and Arethin sighed. “Being Dalish doesn't mean I have no education,” she snapped. 

“I did not mean--” Cassandra sighed. “Will the Dalish work with the Inquisition? We have not had good relations in the past--”

“That thing in the sky outweighs anything else,” Arethin decided. “We can take care of our alliances properly after it's dealt with.” she did not mention that it was highly unlikely the Dalish or their allies would cooperate with a branch of the Chantry.

Cassandra let out a breath of relief. “Then we shall speak with your people,” she said. 

Arethin felt her chest unknot a little. “If we contact the Coalition, we need to talk to Queen Aeducan as well.” Arethin said, tapping her finger on her chin. “King Alistair, the Grand Enchanter--”

“We asked the Grand Enchanter to come to the Conclave,” Josephine said. “She refused to come herself, but she did send representatives.”

“And?”

“The entire party is dead, except for five survivors.”

“That won't make her happy.”

“I daresay not,” Leliana said.

“What about Madame de Fer?” Josephine said. “She is in control of the second largest group of mages, and she sent her own ambassador as well. Surely she would like to hear of this.”

“Contact them both,” Arethin suggested. “I don't know Madame de Fer, but more mages can only be helpful.”

“What of Templars?” Barris asked. “The Breach is magic—isn't it possible a Templar or a Seeker could help suppress it?”

“No,” Arethin snapped. “Absolutely not.”

“A Templar's abilities reinforce reality,” Barris explained. “They nullify magic. Couldn't that--”

“If you even had any Templars who were loyal to you,” Arethin said, and Barris and Cassandra both winced. By this point, the great betrayal of Divine Justinia by the Templars during the siege of Val Royeaux was well known. “It would just be temporary. Did either of you try affecting the rifts with your...abilities?” 

She was highly dubious of the vaunted abilities of Seekers and Templars. She had no doubt they existed, she simply did not think they were the holy protections that the Chantry believed they were.

“We did,” Cassandra said, with a glance at Barris. “It did not work. We tried everything we would think of,” she added, her tone growing defensive. “But none of it worked.”

“Except for the mark,” Josephine pointed out.

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “Except for that.”

“So, only magic will affect it,” Arethin said. “Therefore, we need magical researchers.”

“There are several mages here, besides yourself and Master Solas,” Leliana said quietly. “The survivors from the Grand Enchanter's party--'

Josephine jumped in. “Five survivors from the Grand Enchanter's party, another apostate, a surviving loyalist from the pair Madame de Fer sent and--ah--” she paused.

“What is it?” Arethin asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Well, a bit of a long story, really,” Josephine glanced to Cassandra, then Leliana. 

“We have taken in several Tranquil mages,” Cassandra said. “Specifically from the rebel mages' side.”

“What?” Arethin breathed. “Why are they here?” 

“There is—a man here,” Josephine started hesitantly. “Who knows how to cure Tranquility.”

Arethin stared at her for a long, long moment.

“Excuse me?” she said.

Everyone looked at her.

“We can introduce you to him if you wish,” Josephine said. 

“Ah—yes, I think that would be good,” Arethin said. “Very, very good.” she sighed. “In any case—we still need to find other mages. If all the mages you have here haven't managed to close the Breach--”

“They have not,” Cassandra said with a scowl.

“Then we need more help.”

“I shall contact King Alistair and Queen Aeducan,” Leliana said. “I do not have direct contact with any Dalish authority--”

“I do,” Arethin said. “I will talk to them. Now—who is this mage who can cure Tranquility?”

“Pharamond,” Josephine said. “An escapee from the siege of Val Royeaux.”

“Let me talk to this Pharamond,” Arethin said. “He might be able to help.” she ran a hand over her head. “In the meantime, I'd suggest focusing your efforts on the Breach,” she said. “Keep a quarantine there, and—how far have the rifts spread? Is it just here or--”

Cassandra closed her eyes. “As far west as the Exalted Plains, and as far east as the Hinterlands. And they continue to spread.” she said, and Arethin put a hand over her mouth, shocked. 

“Has anyone been able to close them except for me?” she asked, lowering her hand and trying to affect a calm tone.

They all shook their heads. 

“It's possible that if you close the Breach, the other rifts will also close,” Josephine pointed out, but she didn't seem too optimistic.

“How many deaths, do you know?” 

“We have few numbers,” Leliana said. “But there are many people displaced by the rifts, and it is agitating the war in Orlais as well as the aggression between any mages and Templars.”

Arethin closed her eyes. War in Orlais meant trouble for the Coalition's allies, maybe even more so than the fights between mages and Templars. She rubbed her eyes, her head pounding.

“I need to talk to this Pharamond,” she decided. One thing at a time. “Oh and...one last thing,” she looked up. “Why were people bowing to me out front?”

Everyone looked at each other, in the way people do when something important must be said, but no one wants to be the first one to say it. 

Arethin frowned. “What is it?”

“There is...a rumor,” Josephine said. “Or a...reaction. Some people have responded to your stopping the Breach from growing as you being chosen by Andraste. It is a rumor we have not tried to stop, in hopes that it makes people more sympathetic to the Inquisition.” she glanced at Leliana as she said this.

“...ah.” Arethin nodded, that cold feeling starting in her chest again. That certainly explained Cassandra's comment about providence. “I see.”

“Be prepared for people to start calling you things like Herald and Andraste's Chosen,” Barris said. 

“And are they wrong?” Cassandra asked. Leliana sighed—this was clearly a point of some contention. 

“They _are_ wrong,” Arethin insisted. “Why would your Andraste send a Dalish elf?” 

“This is more of a theological discussion than a practical one,” Barris said. “In any case, it's something to watch for. I'm not certain how wise it is to let the rumor continue.” he raised an eyebrow at Cassandra, who scowled at him.

Arethin's lip curled, and the coldness in her chest refused to leave. “Where is this Pharamond?” She asked. “I would speak with him.” 

Josephine gave her directions to the room that the mages had commandeered as the research area, and Arethin left, giving Cassandra one last wary look. 

The research area was a tiny room that also doubled as Josephine's office. Two desks had been crammed in, one piled high with parchments, books and letters, and the other one covered in various half-filled potions bottles and magical artifacts. The room itself was crowded with various books in a multitude of languages, and there seemed to be little order to the chaos at all. 

No one was in the room, but Josephine had assured her that this was the place Pharamond most frequently came. Arethin rifled through the books, a large portion of which she couldn't read, but some had diagrams or symbols that were vaguely familiar. 

The door opened, and a skinny elvhen man with red hair strode in, his nose in a stack of parchments. 

“Minaeve, did you finish the work on the Fade-touched stone?” he asked, not looking at her, but instead picking up a pen and scribbling on one of the parchments. “There still aren't any demon remains, I'm sorry—Helisma's off looking for some, but--” finally, he looked up. He blinked at her, blue eyes very wide. “Um,” he said, his eyes drifting from her face to the mark on her hand. She shoved her hands into her pockets.

“Hello,” Arethin inclined her head. “I'm looking for Pharamond?”

The elf blinked a few more times, then shook himself, and gave her a wide smile. “I'm Pharamond,” he said, his voice a hair too loud. He put his stack of parchments down. “Is there something you need—um—my Lady?”

“Oh, _really_ ,” Arethin frowned. “I'm no Lady.”

“Uh—alright,” he nodded vigorously. “Do you need something? Did you learn anything about the Breach? I'm sorry, I don't know much about it—Minaeve knows something about demons, and Helisma—well she's a botanist, honestly, we're trying our best, but--”

“It isn't about that,” Arethin said, worried that if he spoke much more without taking a breath, he'd collapse.

“Oh,” he nodded again. “Then what is it?”

“I'm told you know the cure for Tranquility,” she said. 

“I do,” self-consciously, he brushed a hand over his forehead. “And so does Minaeve—and Helisma—and really, anyone I teach it to.” 

“Is it a true cure?” she asked. “It isn't—temporary, or—possession or--?”

“It's permanent as far as I know,” he gave her a weak smile. “I cured my own Tranquility about two years ago now. It's stuck so far.” 

She blinked. It was difficult to imagine this energetic man as Tranquil. 

“Why do you want to know?” he asked. “It doesn't do much good against the Breach as far as I know—I could teach you if you want, but all the Tranquil here are cured--”

“If you could teach me that would be—that would be good,” Arethin said with a nod. “And I...I just wanted to know.”

He was about to say something else, when a tall blonde woman entered the room. Pharamond smiled to see her.

“Here's where you got to,” the woman said.

Pharamond laughed, again, a little too loudly, and pulled her into a hug, kissing her cheek. “Hello, dearest,” he said. “I didn't go anywhere.”

“Well, I found Helisma wandering around the woods, looking for demon parts,” she shook her head. “And she had no idea where you were. Honestly...demon parts...”

“Helisma can take care of herself,” Pharamond assured her gently, as if this was a conversation they'd had many times before. “It helps if one has things to do, and isn't bothered, remember?”

The woman frowned. “I know you _say_ that...”

“Evangeline...”

“Alright, alright...but you know if Helisma so much as turns an ankle, Minaeve will have our heads.” the blonde woman seemed troubled, and only just noticed Arethin standing there. “Oh! Your Ladyship,” she inclined her head. 

“She says she's not a lady,” Pharamond corrected her. 

“Arethin Nadur Lavellan,” Arethin introduced herself. “And you are...?”

“Evangeline de Brassard,” the blonde woman said. “Pleased to meet you.” Evangeline was taller than either Pharamond or Arethin, and had a thick Orlesian accent, thicker even than Leliana's. She wrapped her arm around Pharamond's shoulders, and he put his around her waist. 

Arethin looked at them, entangled with each other, and her brows came together. She couldn't afford to be distracted, not even by something as important as the Tranquil cure. That hole in the sky needed her full attention. 

“You said you aren't one of the experts on the Breach,” she said.

“Well—there really aren't any,” Pharamond said. “It's just us—and, well--”

“And that _Solas_ ,” Evangeline made a face.

“Evangeline,” Pharamond admonished. “There's nothing _wrong_ with him, he's just...funny.” he looked back at Arethin. “There aren't too many—well.” his gaze was downcast. 

Evangeline continued. “Hardly anyone survived the explosion, and that includes mages. Even if the Breach were not so strange, we would be low on anyone who could research it.”

“Who knows the most about it?” Arethin asked.

“Apart from you?”

“Yes, apart from me,” Arethin restrained herself from rolling her eyes.

“Solas does,” Pharamond said. 

Evangeline snorted. “For however much that is.”

Arethin nodded. “Where can I find him? Does he come here or--?”

“He lurks in the woods more than Helisma does,” Evangeline said. “He will be outside somewhere.”

Arethin nodded. “I'll come back later,” she assured Pharamond. “For that Tranquil cure.”

“Oh—alright!” he said. “Nice meeting you!” he waved as she left.

She shook her head as she trudged out of the Chantry. The Tranquil cure—two weeks ago that would have been worth more than almost anything. There were people in the Coalition who would give their left arm for a cure. Keeper Lashiel, of Clan Uvunlan, had a cousin who had been Tranquil since before the Blight, and she along with many others had relatives and friends who had gone to the Circle and come out less than whole.

But now, with that hole in the sky, everything else, even the cure, seemed to mean a great deal less. 

She left the Chantry, and scanned the village, trying to spot Solas. The village was organized into a collection of terraces, creating artificial flat steps instead of being built into the mountainside. The Chantry stood on the tallest terrace, so she could see the furthest from this point, without climbing a tower, anyway. Her gaze kept being drawn to the massive Breach, the unnatural light distracting and strange. 

“Hey!” 

Arethin looked down to see Varric Tethras waving at her from a terrace just below the one she stood on. She walked round to him. 

“Hello,” she said. 

“Nice to see you up and about,” Varric said with a slanted grin. He looked a bit better than he had on the hike up to the Breach, his hair combed and his clothes straighter, but the dark shadows under his eyes were still there. Despite being in the middle of the village, his crossbow was on his back. Even Cassandra had not had a weapon at her side.

She nodded at him in greeting. “Do you need something?”

“Just wondering how you were doing,” his grin turned to a grimace. “Going from one of the most wanted people in Thedas to—well, the way I hear it, you're pretty much leading the armies of the faithful.”

She snorted. “Don't be ridiculous,” she informed him. “I'm looking for Solas—unless you've developed some knowledge of the Breach that might help me?”

“No, can't say I have,” Varric sighed. “But I'm not sure anyone really has a good grasp on that thing.” 

“That's what I'm trying to change.”

“Listen...you might seriously consider running,” Varric said, his expression dark. “I've written enough tragedies to know how this ends.”

She frowned at him. What kind of a man was he, to want the only hope of closing the Breach to go further away from it? “You spend too much time listening to stories,” she informed him, deeply unimpressed. “Where exactly would I run to?”

“No idea,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I do know what happens if you put off running till it's too late. I spent way too long in a Kirkwall prison to want to get involved with this kind of stuff.”

“Well, I can't avoid it,” she held up her hand, and his eyes flicked to her mark before going back to her face. “And I am the one in the best position to fix it.”

“Don't say I didn't warn you,” he informed her with a shrug. “Now—you're looking for Solas? He's either by the apothecary or wandering around the forest outside the walls.”

“Why?” she asked, blinking in confusion. “Evangeline said the same thing...”

“No idea. Even for a mage, he's pretty weird, and I've known some weird mages. If you find him, tell him to come in before he gets eaten by a bear or something.”

“I will,” she assured Varric, and left him there. 

She was fairly sure she had once read a book by a Varric Tethras, a rather bawdy romance novel that featured a description of magic so wildly inaccurate it was almost offensive in its ignorance. 

However, that had been some years ago. If it was the same Varric Tethras, he had hopefully improved in his writing skills. 

Solas was not by the apothecary, neither did he seem to be anywhere within the walls. She hoped he hadn't left, it would make entirely too much sense to run. Already, people were leaving, packing carts and heading away from the village. It was like a ghost town, with only the most stubborn or desperate still remaining. 

Outside the walls was the river, still frozen solid. No fishing would be done unless someone had an ice pick, and it seemed like no one had yet made the attempt. The pines nearby had not yet been chopped down for lumber, which Arethin found odd, considering the circumstances, but then she remembered how Evangeline had mentioned demons out in the woods. 

She walked past soldiers who were practicing drills and a forge, several rows of tents, and more carts that were being loaded or unloaded with supplies. People stopped to stare as she passed, but no one said anything. 

Wanting to get away from prying eyes, she ducked down a path into the forest. Among the trees, she let out a breath, and her chest relaxed for what felt like the first time since she had awoken. 

Her magic twinged at her, and she could feel something nearby. She turned and walked towards it, hoping it wasn't a demon or a rift. 

In a clearing, she found Solas and a glowing blue wisp opposite each other. He spoke quietly to the wisp, but she couldn't hear what he said.

She put a foot forward into the clearing, and the wisp vanished, spotting her. Solas turned to look at her. 

“Are you sure you should do that so close to Haven, or the Breach?” she asked him in Dalish.

“It was harmless. A spirit of curiosity.” he watched her carefully, not stepping any closer. He looked like he had gotten a decent night's sleep since the last time she had seen him, but his clothes were still ragged and not exactly what she'd consider proper winter wear. His face was startlingly severe, containing the sort of gauntness one had after being ill or ill-fed for a long time. 

“And all it would take would be a brush with one of those Chantry fanatics to turn it to Obsession.” she folded her arms. 

Solas sighed. “I suppose. It was lucky enough that crossing through the Breach did not hurt it.” his gray eyes were calculating as he looked at her “I see they have taken to calling you the Herald of Andraste,” he said, his tone faintly mocking. “A blessed hero sent to save us all.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Someone who would casually chat with a spirit doesn't believe in the Chantry, surely?”

“No. I do not. Though I am always open to new ideas.” 

His accent was still baffling and peculiar to her, strangely stilted and archaic sounding. He didn't speak it like any Dalish she had ever known Of course, that did make sense, as he was not Dalish. 

“You never finished telling me where you came from.”

“A village to the north.”

Helpful.

She let out a breath through her nose. “Yes, but where? I haven't seen many apostates who weren't connected to any group.”

“I would not actually be able to locate it on a map,” he admitted. 

She tilted her head to one side, curious. “Why not?” 

“I left when I was younger, and did not care to mark down where precisely it was that I left. Being a somniari made it too dangerous to stay.”

“I'm sorry.”

He looked surprised. “Why?” 

“It's awful when people are forced to leave their communities because of magic. It isn't fair.”

“No. It isn't.” he looked appraising, but still wary. “You said you knew another somniari?”

“Yes. Feynriel Tualsalis. He almost died once, apparently, from getting lost in his dreams, so I see where you're coming from.”

“Mm,” Solas nodded. “That can be a danger also.”

“If you were alone, how did you stop yourself getting lost?”

He shrugged. “I stayed away from places that would have done me harm.”

“Ah—well, Feynriel was near Kirkwall at the time, so that certainly didn't do him any favors.”

“From what I have heard, it wouldn't have.” he tilted his head to one side. He hadn't taken his eyes off of hers once.

“Why am I so interesting?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Someone who has survived such a calamatous event is hardly dull.”

“Maybe.” she looked at him, and frowned when she realized he still had the same footwraps instead of proper shoes. “Can you not find shoes?”

“Excuse me?”

She pointed at his feet. “I'd be very surprised if you hadn't caught frostbite yet.”

“I have not.”

“Warming spells don't last forever--”

“I am not quite certain how this is relevant.”

“It is if we're to be working together.” she jerked her head towards Haven. “Come on—you'll catch your death, and then where will we be?”

He ducked his head, hiding a smile, and fell into step with her as they walked back to the village.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, watching him. “What stake did you have in the Conclave?”

“I was interested. I came to watch—from a safe distance, of course. Then I saw the Breach...”

“And you came to help?”

“Yes.”

“Were you worried about the danger?”

“I was rather worried that the Breach would destroy us all. I think stopping that supersedes any personal danger.”

The corners of Arethin's mouth turned up in a rueful, tiny smile. “Probably a good attitude to have. So, you knew enough of this to help me?” she raised her marked hand.

He inclined his head. 

“How?” 

“It would have killed you,” he said. “Spread until you were consumed by the Fade, or the Veil. I know enough of both to isolate the spell, or at least keep it at bay.” his mouth curled. “For a time.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you do not close the Breach, it will expand again,” he said. “And then it will kill you.”

“How do you know?”

“All things have patterns. One only needs to know how to look.” 

“I see,” she nodded, disturbed, but showing only calm. She did not know anyone here well enough to show her true worries, not even another elf. And perhaps especially not another elf, not with the dreams of the white wolf...

They walked through the gates, and Varric, chatting with one of the guards, spotted them.

“You brought him back!” Varric gave them both a grin and came over. “Thought you'd gone and run off on us, Chuckles.”

“No,” Solas shook his head.

“Chuckles?” Arethin raised her eyebrows.

“He likes nicknames,” Solas murmured to her.

“It's because he has a great sense of humor,” Varric informed her, his grin turning crooked. 

“Do you indeed?” Arethin asked Solas, an eyebrow raised. Solas made a face. 

“Have you eaten anything since you got up?” Varric asked Arethin, more serious all of a sudden. “Or you?” he pointed at Solas. “Every last mage I ever knew was scatterbrained. Don't need either of you falling over at a bad time.”

“I am less scatterbrained than you,” Arethin reached over and poked Varric's chest, where his tunic was unbuttoned. “I know to button my tunics up all the way when it's cold.” her stomach growled, and she realized that she hadn't eaten for some time. “I am...rather hungry though,” she admitted.

Varric sighed. “Come on,” he said, getting to his feet. “I swear, no one around here remembers to eat.”

He lead them to a tiny, half-empty tavern at the edge of the village. What little talk there was went silent when they entered, and people stared. Varric and Solas both ignored the staring, but it made Arethin's neck itch. 

Varric and Arethin both got large bowls of rich stew—not Arethin's usual fare, but there was nothing wrong with a good Ferelden stew. Solas, bizarrely, asked for and received several raw carrots, which he seemed quite content with.

“You're not even going to cook those?” Arethin asked.

Solas blinked at her and shook his head.

“Don't even ask,” Varric muttered. “The way he eats is as weird as the rest of him.” 

“Don't call people weird, it isn't polite,” Arethin said absently, then blinked. “Ah—excuse me.” she rubbed her face. “I forget I'm not with the Clan.” 

“Are you frequently called upon for questions of etiquette?” Solas asked, eyebrows raised.

“It's probably more like she needs to tell everyone to stop fighting, or she'll turn the aravel around,” Varric said. “Am I right?”

“Stop fighting, pulling hair, kicking, or throwing things,” Arethin nodded. “Exactly.”

Varric chuckled. “Merrill—Keeper Merrill—always made Clans sound like the worst kind of family roadtrip,” he said. “Is that true for everyone?” 

Arethin shrugged. “I don't know. I just know that I'm the mediator.”

“Hm,” Solas' brows were knit, but he didn't comment. 

“What is it?” Arethin asked.

“In my experience, Dalish Clans are not so very welcoming.” he explained, his expression still somewhat sour.

“Well, that depends on the Clan,” she said. “And how you approached them, and when you did so.” 

“They can really change a lot, depending on who's in charge,” Varric said. “Knew one Clan that were all a bunch of stuck-up idiots. The other one, lead by someone different? Some of the best people I knew.”

Arethin smiled at him.

“While the Dalish recall legends, I walk the Fade,” Solas said. “The Clans I encountered did not want to hear what I had to say about their history.”

Arethin furrowed her brow. “That doesn't sound right,” she said, tapping her lip. She wasn't angry—most people who weren't Dalish simply didn't understand Dalish very well, even other elves. However, it was odd that the Clans would reject a somniari's stories and advice. A thought struck her. “Oh, Creators—have you ever met a profound idiot named Keeper Thelhen?”

He chuckled in surprise, raising his eyebrows. “I cannot say that I have.”

“Well, good, because Mythal's mercy, if that's who you were thinking of--”

“No, I can assure you it was not. What is your quarrel with them?”

“The fool put his entire Clan in danger from a powerful spirit to try and repair a magical artifact,” she said. “Then, when the Coalition sent an ambassador to speak with his Clan, they ended up fighting each other for about a month. The ambassador knew that what the Keeper was doing was dangerous, and wanted him to stop, but Thelhen refused.”

“Fascinating,” he raised his eyebrows, and really did seem interested. “He refused help even from one of your own people?”

Arethin nodded. 

“I had thought...” Solas tilted his head to the side, thoughtful. “Well, in any case, that is not who I encountered.”

“Who did you meet?”

“More than one Clan who did not want to listen to me because what I told them contradicted their beliefs,” his tone was sharp again, his expression calculating. 

“And what did you tell them?” 

He considered her. “Your people are not the only elves who still remain in the world. And what you remember is not always right.”

She smiled, but her smile was bitter. Her people were proud, and often too proud. “Of course not,” she said. “And those who believe that are foolish.” she shook her head. “An attitude borne from being too long alone,” she said. “Half-vanished into the forests, for fear of the outside world.”

“But your Clan does not share this fear?”

“No. We don't.”

“Why?”

“Who is to say? Some Clans have good fortune, others have none. Those who are part of the Coalition tend to be the friendlier Clans, and those who have not, aren't. If you've managed to avoid the Coalition-allied Clans in all this time, then you're getting the hostile ones.” she gave him a long look. “Unless you're Fen'harel in disguise,” she said. “In that case, yes, we wouldn't be too happy with you.”

He laughed. “Understandable enough,” he said. “Although I don't believe your Fen'harel is quite the same as how he was in Elvhenan.”

“Oh, please, I don't need an academic discussion right now,” she groaned.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Excuse me?”

“It's a longstanding argument,” she sighed. “To make a very lengthy story short, if you ever bring up Fen'harel at a Coalition meeting or an Arlathvhen, be prepared to have to deal with about ten more opinions than there are people in the room.”

“I see,” he said, now looking faintly pleased. “Why?”

“Conflicting historical evidence and folklore,” she said, waving a hand. “We saw this memory in the Fade, but we picked up this tome in a ruin, here's this ancient cult, or maybe it wasn't one at all—and it gets worse every time a new Clan joins us.”

“That is very different than my experience,” he said.

“Yeah, a lot of the Dalish I knew tried to stick to the same side,” Varric said. “Not always, but...” 

“You can't argue with anyone quite like you argue with your own family,” Arethin reasoned, and this time, Solas laughed outright. 

“Very true,” he said, ducking his head to hide his smile. 

Arethin finished her food and got to her feet.

“I need to send a letter,” Arethin said. 

“Nightingale has ravens,” Varric said, and she shook her head.

“No—I don't need those,” she said. “I won't be long.” 

A trick that most Keepers and Firsts knew was how to talk to birds.

It wasn't true speaking, of course, but a skill related both to shapeshifting and to dreamwalking. One could find a bird, and relay what one wanted to it. 

Most of the time, it was easier for a Clan to raise and train its own messenger birds to go to specific places or people, but sometimes different methods were needed in an emergency. 

First, Arethin cast her magic out, searching for a bird that might prove friendly enough to carry her message. A huge hawk came to her, landing on top of the wall. She gave it a chunk of meat she had saved, and gently imparted the urgency and location of the message to its mind. 

Birds had simpler minds than people, which made them easier to talk to. Talking to a bird was a bit like contacting a spirit. 

The bird was amenable, so she tied the letter to its claw and sent it away. With a little luck, the letter should arrive at her Clan in a few days. 

“You might have used one of Leliana's ravens,” Arethin looked round to see Cassandra striding up the hill.

“No, I couldn't have,” Arethin said. “Ravens only go one way.”

“Then was the hawk already yours?”

She shook her head. “No. I can use magic to tell them where I need them to go.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “Truly? I have never heard of such a spell.” 

“It's one of those old elvhen spells that nobody but us really knows because we're honestly the only ones who care about it,” Arethin said with a shrug. “It's really more practical to just train birds.”

“How so?”

“Well, with domestic birds, the spell can confuse them if they mix it up with existing training,” she explained. “And even the friendliest wild birds are still...wild. You don't want to always rely on them.”

“We could send a messenger to your Clan--”

“Sending a messenger to Queen Aeducan should be fine,” Arethin said. She sighed. “We're trying to work on better magical communication, but it's difficult.”

“How so?” 

“Why are you so interested?” Arethin asked, tilting her head to one side. “You're a Seeker. What use have you for magic?”

“A communication spell is hardly blood magic or demon summoning,” Cassandra assured her. “I have little issue with magic that is not dangerous.”

“I see.” Arethin turned and looked out over the wall. “Well, hopefully, the bird should be at my Clan soon, and the Dalish will know.”

“What might we expect from them?” Cassandra asked, joining her by the wall.

Arethin shook her head. “They will be worried,” she said. “Very, very worried.”

“I am not sure about who would not be concerned about this.”

“True.”

There was a long pause, while they both looked out over the mountains. At length, Cassandra spoke again. “Do you truly remember nothing?” Cassandra asked her. “Nothing at all?”

Arethin shook her head. “No—just--” she sighed. “Maybe—running. The shape of a woman—but nothing concrete.”

“A woman?” Cassandra leaned in, interested.

That coldness in her chest was back again. “It wasn't your Lady of Sorrows,” Arethin said.

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “You are so certain? You did not remember a moment ago.”

“If it was her, I would know,” Arethin informed her. 

“Would you?”

“Wouldn't you?” 

Cassandra tilted her head to one side. 

“I cannot abide gods that don't show their faces,” Arethin said. “If it was her, she needs to show her own self, not use me to do what she wants doing.”

Cassandra looked away, back out over the mountains. “The Maker has not been shown to be as direct as that.”

“Has he not? He sent you your Lady in the first place.” Arethin hummed to herself. “Is there anything I need to do right now?”

Cassandra shook her head. “We are still waiting for information. It would be useful if you went to an area struck hardest by the rifts, but we are not yet sure where exactly that is.”

“I could try the Breach again—perhaps it's simply a matter of repetition.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I would not recommend it. Before we know more, we cannot risk your life.”

“Maybe,” Arethin chewed her lip.

Cassandra glanced at her. “You do not like being idle any more than I do, I see.”

“We have too much to do to sit about waiting for more information,” Arethin said with a scowl.

“I agree. However, I also know the folly of going ahead when we know little,” she sighed and closed her eyes. “I see what must be done and I do it. But that has not served me well of late.” she let out a long sigh and glanced at Arethin one more time. “I must return to the troops,” she said. “I will inform you if we know anything more.”

Arethin nodded, and Cassandra walked off. 

In the office, Josephine worked steadily at her desk. She glanced up when she heard the door open. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, summoning a smile. “Lady Lavellan. Did you need something?”

Arethin shook her head. “I was looking for Pharamond.”

“He is...somewhere. He and the other Tranquil have a tendency to drift off, sometimes.” 

Arethin sat in the chair opposite Josephine. “Tell me,” she said. “What kind of person are you, that you took care to learn a Dalish greeting?”

Josephine ducked her head, smiling. “I am simply conscientious,” she said, tucking a strand of dark hair away from her eyes.

“Do you speak with many Dalish?”

“No, I am afraid. I have had some dealings with the Prince-Consort of Orzammar—not personally, through his Crows, and knowing a greeting or two is always useful.”

“Ah,” Arethin nodded. “That makes sense.”

“I fear that information is taking its time in getting to us,” Josephine said, a frown appearing between her brows. 

“I'm familiar with the problem,” Arethin said, giving Josephine a slightly sour smile. “Do you know no faster methods apart from messengers and ravens?”

Josephine shook her head. 

Arethin sighed. “Well...in that case, I have little to do at the moment,” she admitted. 

“Unfortunately, no,” Josephine said. “It is possible you can help negotiate a truce between us and Elthina, but until we learn more...”

“I see. In that case, I will leave you to your work.” 

She left the room, and outside, she almost walked into Ser Barris. She froze.

“My Lady,” Barris inclined her head, and politely stood aside. 

She glared at him, her eyes sliding to the Templar insignia on his armor. Her mouth was dry.

He followed her gaze. “This is the only armor I have, my Lady,” he informed her. “And I don't believe in not using resources when I have them.”

“Are you a Templar, then?” she asked. “Or merely wearing the armor of one?”

“Once, I was,” he admitted, and she stiffened. “But I stopped being one in spirit when I learned of the Lord Seeker's plans. And when the Chantry split--” he shrugged. “I don't believe I would be considered a Templar in name, anymore, even if I wanted to be.”

“And do you?” she couldn't stop herself from asking. 

He shook his head. “Not after all of this.”

“I see.” she moved past him. Her hands were shaking. 

She hurried out of the Chantry, intent on finding the only other person who spoke Dalish. It was calming to be around someone who spoke her language, even though it was not his native tongue. 

She located Solas sitting cross-legged on a low wall by the apothecary, thumbing through a somewhat charred and ragged book. 

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello.” he closed the book and put it aside. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing in particular.” she spared a glance for his feet, and sighed. “No shoes again?”

“I was not aware that you had appointed yourself my caretaker,” he said, amused.

“I haven't,” she assured him. “I simply don't need anyone getting frostbite. I'll tell you what I tell my Clanmates—just because you can't feel the cold now, doesn't mean you won't feel it later.”

He chuckled, and for a moment they both looked out, towards the Breach.

“Who taught you magic?” she asked him. “Someone must have taught you something.” mages who had no teacher at all frequently became victims of their own power, killing themselves in accidents or tearing the Veil. Somniari especially very rarely made it to adulthood, in part because they were almost universally killed in Circles, and in part because they drew so many spirits and demons to them. It was unlikely that Solas had never had any kind of teacher.

He considered that for a moment. 

“There was another mage in my village,” he said at length. “The kind of individual that all are aware is a mage, but no one says so.”

“Ah,” Arethin nodded. “A midwife, or a healer?”

“A midwife, and many other things besides that. She saw the particular shape of my magic, and taught me the basic methods of controlling one's power.”

“If the village was not afraid of magic, why did you leave?”

“They were not afraid of hers. They were frequently quite concerned about mine.”

“You have little aptitude for healing, then?”

He shrugged, his gray eyes looking out into the middle distance, remembering. “However much I could heal did not matter—what mattered was my other talents.”

“Dreaming?”

“Yes, that is one.”

She sighed. “Would you care to enlighten me on the others?”

“I am have something of a skill in battle magic,” he said. “Some healing as well. The majority of my power lies in dreams, however.”

“I see,” she nodded, considering. 

“And what of you?” he asked. “You have shown some proficiency in battle magic. What other specialties have you accomplished?”

She paused for a long time, considering her answer. “Mostly battle magic, defensive,” she said at last. “I haven't had time for much beyond that, not anymore. One of my Clanmembers can do the most marvelous things with plants, though...”

His face lit up. “So many mages are only interested in power—it is...gratifying to hear of one who puts their skills to a more constructive use.”

"So many of these Circle mages think that magic is only for fighting or healing!” Arethin shook her head. “It is ridiculous.”

“Yes.”

They were quiet for a moment, before Arethin asked another question. “In your dreams, have you seen omens?”

“Quite possibly. Which ones do you mean?”

“The white wolf. And something...else. Sometimes it's called the Elder One, but it's just a whisper.”

He took a deep breath through his nose. “Yes. I have heard that name before.”

“And the wolf?”

“A wolf is not necessarily a bad omen.”

Arethin laughed. “When the Dalish arrive here, you must meet Keeper Dhaiveira,” she said. She took note of how his expression soured slightly when she mentioned the Dalish.

“Why?” 

“He is Clan Eirethelu's Keeper,” she explained. “They're a strange Clan. They have an inordinate fondness for wolves, for being Dalish.”

“I see,” he raised his eyebrows. 

“Well, the Coalition is coming here,” she said. “You can speak with them then.”

“In that case, I will stay, at least until the Breach is sealed.”

“Where you going to leave?” she asked, finding herself disappointed at the notion. 

“Although they may have taken a few apostates under their wing, the Inquisition is still a Chantry force,” he said. “I have never been to a Circle. Cassandra and many others still consider me dangerous.”

“I wouldn't let them hurt you,” she promised him.

“How would you stop them?”

Her brows knitted together in a frown. “However I had to.”

Whatever disagreements she and Solas had, she would not let the Chantry take another elvhen mage. 

He looked at her for another long moment. “...thank you.” he said at length. 

“You're welcome.”

“Have you considered another way to seal the Breach?”

“Yes. I need more magic. The Grand Enchanter and the Coalition can both help, and there are the loyalist mages, if they consent to help.” she sighed and rubbed her nose. “We might also find a way to try and broker some kind of agreement with Elthina so the bloody woman doesn't attack Haven.” Arethin sighed and shook her head. “This business with the Divines is...complex.”

“Indeed. I believe that Elthina represents the largest split in the Chantry since Tevinter elected their own Divine.”

“Divines! First they attack us, then they attack their own, and wonder why we do not trust them!” 

It was three days before they had any news of Elthina and her cohorts, and the news they had was not good.

“Elthina has declared that the Breach was the Maker smiting Divine Justinia,” Cassandra growled. “And so she considers her appointment to Divine legitimate.”

“And your Inquisition illegitimate, I assume?” Arethin said.

Cassandra inclined her head.

“I see. And what shall we do when she learns that I am the only one who can affect the Breach?”

“It's possible she may try to attack us,” Leliana said. 

“Do you have the forces to repel her?” Arethin bit the inside of her cheek, her brows drawn together in worry. 

“Considering that General Dubois and Empress Celene are fighting each other, her forces are greatly minimized,” Leliana explained. “But she still has a large bulk of the Templars—apart from those infected by red lyrium, of course.”

“And what about them?”

“We have no idea where they are,” Josephine said with a grimace.

Arethin started to pace. “If she attacked us, how prepared are you to defend against her?”

Everyone immediately looked downcast.

“She still maintains the bulk of the Templar and Seeker forces,” Cassandra said. “And if pressed, I am certain she could sway a great deal of Dubois' army if she so chose.”

Arethin nodded. “Very well, we must find a way to better defend this place,' she said. 

“What do you suggest?” Barris asked.

“The Breach concerns everyone,” she said. “So, the Coalition doesn't have a formal military, but Queen Aeducan does and we have magical support. What I suggest is that we come here, help maintain the barricade in the immediate area of the Breach, and help defend Haven.”

“Would you ally yourself with the Inquisition?” Cassandra asked.

“No,” Arethin said. “Not formally,” she added, when both Leliana and Cassandra frowned. “I am hardly equipped to make that kind of treaty in any case,” she said, her brows knitted when their expressions did not lift. “And in any case, I would not be a part of your organization except as external help.”

“But--”

Arethin clenched her marked hand. She hadn't wanted to pull this card, but she was going to anyway. “I am the only one who might close the Breach,” Arethin said. “So we do it my way. And I say, we call in my people and Queen Aeducan's, as well as the Grand Enchanter and king Alistair. They would all certainly be happy to help.”

“Well, we have sent word both to Queen Aeducan and King Alistair,” Josephine pointed out.

“And I have contacted the Dalish. What else must we do?”

“There are a great many of open rifts that are causing problems from here to the Approach,” Leliana said. 

“What should I do about those?” 

“One of the areas most heavily hit by the rifts is Redcliffe and the surrounding Hinterlands, at the foot of the mountains,” Leliana said, indicating the Hinterlands on the map set on the table. 

“Why there? Do you have any idea?” Arethin looked at the map, which was marked with some spots of probable rifts.

“Redcliffe was the site of a demon attack during the Blight,” Leliana explained. “Apparently, the Veil was incredibly damaged, and it is possible that any area where the Veil was already damaged is susceptible to rifts.”

Arethin gnawed on a hangnail. “What about Calenhad, Kirkwall, the Brecelian?”

“The area around Lake Calenhad has many rifts as well,” leliana said. “But Redcliffe especially. On top of this, one of the more neutral Chantry Mothers is there—Mother Giselle. She has not formally aligned either with us or with Elthina.”

“So?”

“If you are in the area, you should see her. It is likely that she will have information for us.”

“Lavellan!” Varric waved her over. 

“Master Tethras,” she nodded.

He shook his head. “You and Chuckles—would it kill either of you to loosen up? It's just Varric.”

“Did you need something?” she folded her arms.

“I want to come to the Hinterlands with you,” he said, his brow set in a stubborn line.

“What?” she blinked. “Why?” 

“Well--” he sighed. “A pretty big chunk of this mess started with Kirkwall. With one of my friends. I didn't try to stop it then, so I figure...maybe I should help clean it up now.”

“One of your friends? What do you mean?”

“You hear about the Chantry explosion?”

Arethin nodded. “Ah, yes—Keeper Merrill told us about that.”

So had the First Enchanter to the Kirkwall Circle, but he didn't like his presence to be advertised. They had both given very detailed accounts of what happened in Kirkwall, how a man hosting a spirit had destroyed the Chantry, after the Grand Cleric had mortally wounded him. 

“And the guy who did that was a friend of mine.”

“What has that to do with this?”

Varric half-laughed. “He practically started the whole war between the mages and Templars!” he exclaimed. 

“No, he didn't,” Arethin corrected. “He was an apostate. The only thing that connected him was that he was trying to smuggle mages out of the Kirkwall Circle, which didn't even work.”

Varric blinked at her. “You know, most people I've talked to don't really think about it like that,” he said.

“Of course not. They are all very willing to blame the apostate, but the truth is, an apostate can't really influence Circle or Chantry politics unless the Chantry _lets_ them. That's rather the entire point.” she sighed, and he stared at her, looking rather poleaxed. “It isn't your fault. You didn't have anything to do with it, from what Keeper Merrill said.”

Varric ran a hand over his hair. “I'd still like to go with you,” he said. 

She looked him up and down. According to Keeper Merrill, he was an excellent shot with his crossbow, and a good friend to her. Arethin, on the other hand, saw a man who had advised her to run at the first opportunity. He looked tired and wrung out, his face slightly gaunt, as if he had been subject to starvation and only recently begun to recover.

She knew that he had been imprisoned in the Kirkwall prison ever since the Gallows was annulled. 

She must have taken too long to answer, because he folded his arms.

“Look,” he said. “I spent way too long in the damn Kirkwall jail to be doing nothing now.”

“That's exactly my problem,” she said. “When did you come to be here? When were you released?”

“I wasn't,” Varric sighed. “Cassandra and the others—well, they got desperate. Red's—Leliana's—people managed to get me out a few months ago. Thought I might have some insight into where Hawke is, because Maker knows no one else was telling them a damn thing.” 

“Why would you know?”

“That's what I told her,” Varric grinned, then his face fell again. “Cassandra thought that maybe she could pinpoint where everything went wrong if she knew what happened in Kirkwall.”

“So then you escaped only recently?”

“Yeah,” Varric's eyes darkened and he looked away. “And Aveline and Fenris are still there...”

She shook her head. “You stay here,” she told him, and he glared at her.

“Look--”

“You look,” she informed him. “I don't want someone who just got out of prison to be risking his neck on a battlefield. It takes more than a few months to recover from whatever they did to you, understand?”

“You need more than just the Seeker and Solas guarding your back,” he argued. 

“As if you're the only man in the world who can use a crossbow?” she snapped. “I said _no,_ Master Tethras.” in a slightly gentler tone, she added “If you were a Clanmate of mine, I'd be making the same decision.”

He frowned, clearly not believing her, and when she left him, he did not follow.


	3. Victims In Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the dalish are archaeologists. they'd find stuff out
> 
> one of my favorite things is to write our guy zev as completely intimidating and terrifying to people who don't know him

It was Cassandra and Solas who accompanied Arethin to Redcliffe. Cassandra had insisted on coming, so Arethin had asked Solas to come as well. It made her feel better to have another person who spoke Dalish with her, and his knowledge of the Breach could well prove useful in closing the smaller rifts.

Haven was but a few weeks away from Redcliffe. Arethin made a note to mention the eluvian network to whoever turned up from the Coalition, as an eluvian stationed near the Breach would make bringing people there much easier. 

There were rifts along the trail down the mountain, but most of them were small, and could be closed with ease. Arethin had been in this direction before, but only once or twice. Her Clan normally roamed far to the north, in the Free Marches, and after Keeper Merrill had begun restoring the eluvians, they felt little need to traverse Ferelden and Orlais. 

The Inquisition largely controlled the trail, which was probably why the new Divine's forces weren't trying to get up the mountain—or perhaps they would simply come from the other side.

It was warmer down by the foothills, and Cassandra and Solas were both decent enough traveling companions. 

Well, Cassandra was decent enough, until she started badgering Arethin about being the Herald of Andraste again.

“What possible reason would she have to visit me?” Arethin demanded, out of patience at last. “Unless she was going to give my people back the Dales, I hardly have much reason to speak with her. I could always tell her 'thank you for the Templars, Mistress Andraste, they literally tried to kill the Divine' for you.” 

Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose. “Lavellan...” 

“Cassandra, I barely hold with my own people's gods,” Arethin said. “Why would I hold with yours?” 

“You need not be insulting about it,” Cassandra snapped. 

“Well, I've been being called the Herald of Andraste for days now, and it is becoming very uncomfortable.”

“Titles forced upon the unwilling usually are,” Solas piped up.

“Quite true,” Arethin said. 

Cassandra rolled her eyes and moved up ahead of them. Solas came to walk by Arethin's side, where previously he had been hanging back.

“You said that you do not hold with Dalish religion?” Solas asked her quietly.

“Ah—it's complicated,” she said with a grimace. 

“I do not mean to intrude, if it is personal,” he said. “I was simply curious. You still bear the vallaslin, after all.”

“Oh, that's not religion,” she corrected.

“Is it not?” he raised his eyebrows. 

“Well, the designs are supposed to match the gods,” Arethin explained. “But I don't think that matters so much as what they mean, do you see?”

“What do yours mean, if they do not represent Andruil?” his face bore an expression of polite interest, but his shoulders were tense. 

“Strength and good hunting,” she said. “One could always use better hunting.” she glanced up at the sky as she thought. “Clarity of purpose. Do you see they look like a bow and an arrow?” she traced the markings on her cheeks and forehead, and he nodded. “An arrow will never be lost, cannot be caught.”

“Interesting,” his shoulders had relaxed somewhat and he looked more thoughtful. “Do all the Dalish think this way, or just you?”

“I could not say. It's another one of those questions that ends up with a hundred answers,” she rolled her eyes. “Here's a tale for you—one Clan found some evidence in a book somewhere that said vallaslin were slave markings, but then they also found another book from roughly the same time period that said the exact opposite, that vallaslin were high honors for those who served the Creators. Most people take the second opinion, but the first still exists, and the books are so blasted old we have no context over who was right or not. We don't even know if 'slave' in High Elvhen means the same thing it does in modern Common or Dalish. Or if we're even interpreting it right.”

Solas was quiet for a long moment, mulling that over.“Ah—the complications of archaeology,” he said at last, sighing. 

“Exactly.” she shook her head. “And it can't be much better being a dreamer,” she added. “I've heard from Master Feynriel himself how complicated it is to understand memories in the Fade.”

“Quite true,” he said. “But it is far more useful than searching the physical remains of ruins alone.”

“I still have no idea why the Clans you ran into rejected you. Most Clans are happy to talk to a somniari. Were you searching on the Orlesian side? They tend to get the most bent out of shape about outsiders.”

“Well—west of the Frostbacks does appear to have a larger amount of easily accessible ruins,” he said slowly.

“Ah, then that is your problem,” she informed him. “And—well, before the Blight, most western Clans weren't very friendly either.”

“Why?” 

She looked at him, and he seemed genuinely curious, so she tried to explain. 

“Lots of Clans will tell you that the city folk abandoned their elvhen roots, that they aren't real elves anymore,” she said. “And it's true there's a great deal of bitterness there. How can we respect them, the feeling goes, if they do not respect themselves enough to remember their past?”

Solas hummed, his brows knit. 

“But there are...other reasons.” she faltered, and he glanced at her. “Humans who push us away from cities, saying we poison wells or—or kill babies for blood magic—how are we to stay close to our cousins, when trying to do that gets us killed?” she shook her head. “I've known Templars and bandits alike who use city cousins for bait to raid on us, Dalish who went to the cities for a lover and got killed by the humans there, mages--” she cut herself off and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “If we don't trust others—if a Clan tells you to go away—there's a good chance it's because they were hurt one too many times by trusting.”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He had gone very pale.

“Are you alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“I am fine,” he said. “Has your Clan suffered anything like that?”

“Yes.” he waited, but she didn't elaborate. At length, he nodded and continued. 

“I had not...realized the extent of the problem,” he admitted. “I thought...well. It seemed foolish to reject what I know, when I could tell them so much...”

“I know it hurts to be turned away from us,” she said. “I try not to do it. It's gotten better, but...”

“A habit once formed will continue.”

“Yes.”

The Hinterlands looked very nice, but even approaching them, they could feel the tatters and tears in the Veil. 

Arethin shuddered. “This place is...unhealthy,” she muttered to herself. Solas nodded.

They met an Inquisition forward outpost. A dwarrowdam came to greet them, a woman named Scout Harding.

She raised her eyebrows when she saw Arethin, her gaze riveted to the mark on Arethin's hand.

“Heard you were Dalish, wasn't sure of it myself,” Harding said. “It's not like your people to get involved.”

Arethin scowled at her. “Where are you from?” she asked. She did not need to ride all the way out here just for her people to be dismissed. 

“I'm a surfacer,” Harding's back straightened.

“I see that's where you get your ignorance from, then,” Arethin swept past her to look out over the valley. “If you were not, you would know better.”

“Hey—listen, I grew up here,” Harding came over to her side. “Seeing all those rifts open--”

“I know,” Arethin said, softening a bit. “It's the worst thing imaginable.”

Harding glared up at her. “Yeah,” she said. “So--”

“So, I shall to fix it,” Arethin said. “I'm the only one who can.” she looked down at Harding. “But I do not need to hear rude comments about my people while I do so, especially when they are not true.”

Harding went very red. “...alright,” she said at length.

“Where is this Mother Giselle?” she asked.

“Down near the crossroads,” Harding explained. “At the refugee camp.”

“Why is the camp there, instead of in Redcliffe?”

“Problems with the Templars and some of the mages made Lady Isolde close the city,” Harding said with a shrug.

“Problems?”

“Not everyone went with the Grand Enchanter,” she said. “And the Lord Seeker ordered his Templars to hunt down any mages they could find.” 

“I see,” Arethin frowned. “This has affected those who are not mages and Templars very greatly?”

“Yeah. Some of the Templars have attacked farmers and civilians that aren't mages at all,” Harding said. “Some of the mages have been trying to work with the civilians, and the Templars have been attacking them, too.”

“We'll keep an eye out and see what we can do,” Arethin assured her.

They headed down to the crossroads. The road was unguarded, and there were many trees and rocks which bore the burnmarks of spellwork having been done. The crossroads themselves were surrounded by a barricade, and the three of them found themselves on the business end of several archers.

“I'm here about the rifts,” Arethin called, holding her hands up. 

“You the Herald?” a man whose armor bore the insignia of the Inquisition called back.

“It's no business of mine if you call me that, but that's what people say,” Arethin said, grinding her teeth.

The archers glanced at each other, then let Arethin and her companions through.

“Corporal Vael,” the man with the Inquisition symbol stepped down off the barricade and introduced himself to her. “Heard you'd be coming.”

Arethin nodded. “I'm going to try and help with the rifts,” she said. “And I need to speak with Mother Giselle.”

Mother Giselle could be found tending to the wounded, murmuring softly to coax one injured soldier into letting a spirit healer look at him.

Arethin glanced sidelong at the soldier, who had a bad burn on one side, clearly inflicted by magic. He flinched back from the spirit healer, a plump woman who was pale with exhaustion. 

Arethin sighed, and snapped her fingers in the soldier's face to get his attention. “Pull yourself together,” she instructed the soldier, her voice harsh. “Do you want to die when that wound gets infected?”

He stared up at her. “I...”

“Be grateful that this woman is willing to lay her hands on you at all,” Arethin informed him. “She could be in Denerim, yet she is here with you. Let her help, or hush.”

The man stared at her for a few more minutes, eyes wide, then lay back, and did not protest when the healer attended to his burn.

Arethin nodded in satisfaction. “Mother Giselle?”

Mother Giselle turned away from the soldier, an admonishing expression in her face. “You needn't be so cruel,” she said. 

“I have no patience for those who refuse a healer's aid when it is freely given,” Arethin informed her, folding her arms.

Giselle's eyes flitted to the mark on Arethin's hand. “You are the one some are calling 'Herald of Andraste,'” the woman said, raising her eyebrows.

“People do call me that.”

“That is what the people believe.”

“Well, I hardly care what they believe, as long as I can fix the Breach,” Arethin said. “Now, I hear you might have some advice on how to deal with the Chantry?”

Giselle sighed. “They have been split into pieces,” she said. “The Lord Seeker and his Divine—the Templars who have split off—and of course Justinia and the Inquisition have created dissent.”

“Yes, exactly. I was under the impression you had some information to give me about that?”

“I do,” Giselle nodded. “You have a chance to bring the Chantry back to one unified voice, but favorable to you,” 

“And why exactly would I want to do that?” 

“If there is no united Chantry, the people will be without aim,” Giselle said. Arethin opened her mouth, but Giselle added “And if you do not unify the Chantry yourself, they will unify themselves, and it will quite possibly be against you.”

Arethin narrowed her eyes. “I see your point,” she said. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Go to Val Royeaux.”

“They would shoot me on sight.”

Giselle gave a slight smile. “Not necessarily.”

“Yes, necessarily.”

“Currently, it is under the control of General Dubois,” Giselle said. “A selfish woman who cares for her own survival and power above all else.” her eyes flicked to the mark on Arethin's hand. “And now, you are the one with that power.”

“I'd have to talk it over, but...” she appraised Giselle. “If it is as you say, then it is...worth considering.”

Giselle's smile widened. “Very good. You see, many of the Clerics in Val Royeaux are amenable to me, and to my efforts, when they might fear the Inquisition.”

“So you can help get us there?”

“I could. If I speak with them, they will allow you to come there.”

“Ah,” Arethin nodded and tilted her head back. “I see.”

“And if you go there, there is a chance to turn them in the direction you wish them to go.” Giselle's smile did not waver, but there was a dangerous glint in her eye when she added “Many are not pleased with the death of Justinia, and the proclamations of Themistoclea. Not pleased at all.”

“How long will it take you to persuade them?”

“I have already been attempting it. If you help to heal the rifts in the Hinterlands, then I will have more cause for my perspective.”

Arethin nodded. “I see. Well, we will close the rifts as soon as possible. We might be able to help with your Templar problem as well.”

She inclined her head. “My thanks.” She regarded Arethin for a long time, before adding “I honestly don't know if you were chosen,” 

“I wasn't.”

“But that matters little. What matters is what you do with the power you have been given.”

“I suppose that's true.” 

Giselle gave Arethin a parting bow, and Arethin returned to her companions. 

“We need to take care of at least a few of the rifts here,” Arethin said. “How do you think we should do it?”

“Larger rifts might require more power than it is possible for you to give,” Solas pointed out.

“But those would be the ones causing the most problems,” Cassandra argued. 

“Mayhap we should focus on the ones that are close to the people,” Arethin said. “And the Templar problem is getting very bad, as far as I can tell.”

Cassandra shook her head. “There is no reason for them to be here,” she said. “The Grand Enchanter is in Denerim. Unless...”

“Unless what?” 

Cassandra let out a breath through her nose. “Perhaps Elthina cannot attack Denerim directly,” she said. “So she seeks instead to try and take those cities that are more vulnerable.” 

“And what do we do if that is the case?”

“We must go to the lady of Redcliffe,” Cassandra decided. “We do not have a very strong hold in the Hinterlands, and speaking with her might prove a benefit.”

“And who is the lady?”

“Lady Isolde, she inherited Redcliffe when Arl Eamon died. Her own son is a mage, but I do not know where he is now.”

“Hm,” Arethin pursed her lips. She resisted the urge to hunt down the Templars surely camping in the Hinterlands, forcing herself to think of the greater danger. “Well, for now the rifts are the largest concern. If we come across Templars, we can deal with them,”

Something in her voice must have changed, because both Solas and Cassandra looked at her, brows knitted in worry, but neither said anything.

“If this Lady Isolde wishes to see us, she must send a messenger. I cannot hold with one who closes their doors to refugees.”

Cassandra frowned, but Solas looked mildly approving. They left the safety of the crossroads, to try and find the largest rifts.

The rifts that dotted the Hinterlands were many, and some were more unmanageable than others. 

The first one they came across was too close to the refugees for comfort, a great open wound in the air. It brought with it the smell of the sea and three Despair demons that wailed and moaned. 

Closing this rift was much easier than the larger Breach, and it still maintained that bizarre feeling that she was mending something physical. 

When the rift was stitched closed with a crack and a lingering salty smell, she looked down at her hand.

“Does it trouble you?” Cassandra asked. The warrior was barely out of breath, though her face was red. 

Arethin shook her head with a slight frown. “No...it just feels...strange.”

“You are using magic you are entirely unaccustomed to,” Solas said, putting his staff on his back. “Very powerful and dangerous magic. It will take some getting used to.”

Arethin sighed and glanced in the direction of the Breach. She turned to Cassandra. “Are there any other very large rifts that you know of?” she asked. “Not the size of the Breach, but...”

Cassandra shrugged. “I am afraid you will have to see yourself,” she said, her expression troubled. 

“I'm just worried about finding a rift that's too large for me alone, like the Breach,” she said. “Not to disparage your assistance, Solas, but what if we encounter one that is too big for two mages?”

“That is a possibility,” Solas said. “However, I believe the majority of rifts were created by accident, and therefore will be much smaller and easier to close. The Breach was formed intentionally, so it is much larger and requires much more power to close.” 

“But you don't know that for sure.”

“No,” Solas admitted. “I do not.”

Arethin clenched her fist. “We need more mages.”

“A prudent decision, in any case.”

It was not an exaggeration that the Hinterlands were full of Templars. There were none of the strange red Templars that had been seen, these were quite ordinary and posed ordinary threats. 

Arethin, Solas and Cassandra took care of one of their camps, which was placed square in the middle of an abandoned farm. The Templars had their abilities, but they seemed sporadic and scattershot, a sure sign that their access to proper lyrium was limited. They got the group down to one Templar, a tall woman with the reflective eyes of someone elf-blooded. 

Cassandra broke her leg, and they decided to ask her what exactly the Templars were doing here.

“Should be easy enough to understand,” the Templar snarled, glowering at Arethin. “The mages tore the sky open. Got to get through to Denerim to get the rest of 'em, Her Holiness says.”

“And why are you in the Hinterlands?” Arethin asked.

The Templar spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. “Can't get to Denerim without getting' the rest of Ferelden. Belongs rightly to the Chantry, anyway.”

“Lands do not belong to the Chantry,” Cassandra said. 

“I don't think the Grand Cleric cares, Cassandra,” Arethin said. 

“She is the _Divine_ ,” the Templar growled. “She's the one that speaks for the Maker—not some heathen knife-ear _witch_ \--”

Arethin drew a spectral blade from the air and pressed it to the Templar's throat. “I suggest you not say things like that around me,” she said. “Else you end up like your fellows.” 

The Templar glared at her but said nothing else, and Arethin took the blade away. 

“Where to next?” she asked her companions.

“What do you wish to do with her?” Cassandra pointed at the Templar. Arethin shrugged. 

“I wasn't really planning on anything.”

Cassandra gave her a strange look, and quickly cut the Templar's throat. 

Arethin sighed. “You didn't have to do that.”

“She could have become a problem later,” Cassandra said. 

“I suppose. Still...would be nice to—not kill people once in a while.”

“Some deaths are necessary,” Solas said. “But all death is regrettable.” 

After they had sealed the rifts close to the road, the highway was clear of demons, the hills cleared of Templars, and when that fact became common knowledge, the town of Redcliffe was opened again. They had been back at the Inquisition camp, preparing to leave for Haven, when a message came to them.

“Lady Lavellan,” Harding waved her over.

“What is it?” Arethin sighed.

“Lady Isolde sent you a message,” Harding held out a scroll sealed with the seal of Redcliffe. 

Arethin opened the missive, which called her to the castle. 

“I have not the time to answer this personally,” she said. “Now that the rifts are closed, we must be on our way. What should we do instead?” she asked her companions.

“Send an Inquisition member in your place?” Cassandra suggested.

“I can go,” Harding said. “We've met before, once or twice. Hopefully she won't be too offended.”

“Explain how dangerous the rifts are,” Cassandra suggested.

Harding's lips thinned. “She knows the dangers of magic,” she said. 

Arethin raised her eyebrows. “Does she now?” she said. “Then perhaps she should have opened her doors to the refugees sooner.”

Harding blinked at Arethin. The dwarrowdam was a little uncertain about her still, and never seemed to know how to reply to the things she said.

“I'll—let you know that you feel that way, Ma'am,” she said.

“See that you do.”

When they returned to Haven, there were visitors. A great many visitors.

Outside the walls of the village, several aravels and even some halla were tied up and being watched by heavily armed Dalish hunters. There were wagons and ponies accompanied by dwarves and dwarrowdams in full armor as well, and that was just outside. 

The residents of Haven avoided these newcomers, but Arethin saw no immediate arguments or altercations, which was likely all to the best.

Some of the Dalish hunters, upon spotting her, waved. She waved back, a little bemused. She hadn't been expecting quite this many people. 

“How many people did you send your messages to?” Cassandra murmured, looking around in surprise. 

“Just Deshanna,” Arethin said. “I suppose she must have told everyone else, and they all decided to come.”

Inside the walls, there were no wagons or aravels, but there were even more dwarven warriors and Dalish hunters. Several Dalish mages chatted with each other around a firepit, and a dwarrowdam argued with a Haven merchant.

Varric came to greet them.

“Lavellan,” he gave her a somewhat bitter grin, but glanced towards a Dalish mage and a dwarrowdam, and his smile grew more genuine. “Did you just invite everyone you knew?”

“I might have,” she said with a shrug.

Cassandra frowned, eyeing the long blades that the hunters wore. 

Solas was tense as well, watching the Dalish with a wariness he didn't have when they were on the road. 

A woman with the vallaslin of Elgar'nan and a mages' staff waved to Arethin. “Lavellan! First Lavellan!” she called, in Dalish. 

“Ander'an atish'an,” Arethin greeted her. “What's going on?”

“Well, Keeper Lanaya wanted to ask you that,” the mage said.

Arethin's stomach dropped into her toes. “Lanaya? Keeper Lanaya is _here_?”

“ _And_ the Prince-Consort of Orzammar,” the mage grinned. 

“Well...it's good they're taking it seriously, then,” Arethin said, pressing a hand to her mouth. She'd seen the Prince-Consort once or twice, and of course she knew Lanaya, but she'd never spoken to either of them personally. At best, she attended a meeting with Deshanna that Lanaya was also attending.

“What is going on?” Cassandra asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Arethin's voice cracked. “No,” she repeated, getting it under control. “It's alright. Help is here. Very _important_ help,” she added to herself, feeling a little faint. “Come,” she said. 

“Do you actually want me there this time?” Varric asked.

“You may come if you wish,” Arethin said. “Cassandra, Solas—I'll definitely need both of you.”

Varric grimaced. “I'm not really one for meetings,” he said. “You can tell me about it later.”

“Who is it who has arrived?” Cassandra asked.

“Keeper Lanaya and Prince-consort Arainai,” Arethin said, and Cassandra's eyes widened. 

Lanaya, the Prince-Consort, Leliana, Josephine and Barris were already arguing the minute Arethin, Solas, and Cassandra set foot in the meeting room. 

“Lavellan, you've returned,” Leliana said, looking up at her. “Good.”

“Yes, I'm back,” Arethin said. “Keeper Lanaya, ander'an atish'an,” she nodded towards Keeper Lanaya. “Your Majesty,” she made a somewhat more formal bow to the Prince-Consort. 

“Ambassador Lavellan, I'm very pleased to see you alive and well,” Lanaya said with a friendly smile. She was a middle-aged woman with graying blonde hair, stocky and short. Her skin was tanned and weatherbeaten, an indication that she spent quite a lot of time in the outdoors. She wore leather armor, a fur cape, and a staff on her back. 

“And we are quite pleased to meet the person who would save us all from the ending of the world,” the Prince-Consort said, his own smile foxlike and dangerous. He was taller than Lanaya, thin, with long, white-blond hair pulled into elaborate dwarven-style braids. Like Josephine, he was very brown, but lighter than either Barris or Arethin. He wore armor that, in true dwarven fashion, was both beautiful and quite functional. He also had a pair of Dalish daggers strapped to his back. “We extend our apologies that our lady wife could not be here—she so wishes she could come, but the needs of Orzammar come before everything.”

Arethin nodded. “Ah—this is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast,” she gestured to Cassandra. “And Solas, who is our expert on the Fade.”

Cassandra glanced at Arethin, her brow furrowed, but she said “A pleasure to meet you.” 

Lanaya nodded. She turned to Solas. “Are you from the Circle?” She asked. “A representative of the Grand Enchanters'--?” 

“No,” Solas said. “I am affiliated with no group. I came to lend my assistance to the Inquisition when I saw the Breach split the sky.”

“Rare for an apostate to be so friendly to the Chantry,” the Prince-Consort said, his amber eyes watching Solas keenly. 

“If the Breach is not sealed, we are all doomed. The Inquisition was here first.”

“Quite true.” 

“Now, we understand that this land belongs to the Chantry,” Lanaya said. “Or as far as we are concerned, it does,” she and Josephine exchanged a look.

“Yes,” Josephine agreed. “There have been some land disputes, but nothing serious.”

“However, the fact of the matter is that the only person who can close the Breach is Ambassador Lavellan,” Lanaya added.

Arethin inclined her head. “Even the smallest rifts need me to close them,” she said. 

“So quite obviously, we have a stake in this.”

“As allies?” Cassandra watched Lanaya, her eyes narrowed. “You did not seem very keen on being allies when General Dubois was storming Val Royeaux.”

“We were not,” Lanaya said. “But the Breach changes everything.”

“Quite true,” the Prince-Consort said. “And do not forget, Seeker, that it was _we_ who sheltered Empress Celene while she fled from her country's infighting.”

“So what are you proposing?” Cassandra asked. 

“Well, for one, stop acting as if _our_ ambassador is part of _your_ Chantry,” Lanaya said. 

“She agreed--”

“I said I would help close the Breach, no more,” Arethin said, her tone very cool. “I did not sign on to be your prophetess.”

“Some are calling you 'the hand of Mythal,' rather out of spite,” the Prince-Consort smirked. 

“Are they?” Arethin raised her eyebrows. 

“Mm. And we have heard the title 'Elvhen Paragon' passed around several times. Enough for the Shaperate to grow interested.”

“An elvhen Paragon,” Solas spoke up. “Fascinating. I was under the impression only dwarves could be Paragons.”

“So was I, funnily enough,” the Prince-Consort said. “And so was my lady wife. However, it seems that since you might prevent the world from ending, you may also receive a unique title.” he chuckled. “Fascinating, no?”

“If she is here because of providence, it was the Maker's will, and no one else's,” Cassandra said, leaning forward.

“Providence? On the Maker's behalf?” Lanaya demanded. “If it's providence you're seeking, it could easily be from the Creators. You have no more actual proof that he exists than we do our gods.”

Cassandra sighed. 

“Keeper, please,” Arethin pinched the bridge of her nose. “We don't need to bring religion into this— _anyone's_ religion,” she shot Cassandra a look. “In any case, regardless of anything else, we still need to deal with the rest of the Chantry,” she said. 

“Mother Giselle proposed we go to Val Royeaux,” Cassandra said. “She said she would be able to turn the clerics to our side.”

“Going there would be foolish, even if the Clerics were open to us,” Barris said with a grimace.

“I thought so as well.”

“Val Royeaux?” Lanaya blinked. “Why would you go there in the first place?”

“The only thing you would get there is an arrow between your eyes,” the Prince-Consort said.

“ _Or_ we would regain control of the Chantry,” Cassandra said. “If they are left alone, we will have another enemy to contend with.”

“Yes, you wouldn't want a _third_ Divine mucking up your Chantry,” Lanaya said, letting a breath out through her nose.

Josephine slid in. “One way to gain control of the remaining clerics is to convince them that Mistress Lavellan is truly the Herald of Andraste, like many claim,” she said. “And if we regain sole control over the Chantry once more, we will also have a better handle on Orlais.”

Arethin gritted her teeth. “And let the Dalish think I've converted to your Chantry?” she snapped. “I don't think so. Whatever Giselle says she can do, it relies upon that idea.”

“I don't think any of us would think that,” Lanaya assured her. “At least, not anyone intelligent.” she rubbed her forehead. “We can't afford to let go of a resource because it may be...politically inconvenient.” 

“Orzammar will lend its strength to yours,” the Prince-Consort said, glancing at Leliana. “We benefit no more from the Breach than anyone else. So, no matter what is chosen, we lend you our aid,” he nodded to Arethin.

Arethin felt that little drop in her stomach again. “Thank you, your Majesty,” she said, her throat a bit tight.

The Prince-Consort now turned to Cassandra and Leliana. “However, we lend our strength _only_ to Ambassador Lavellan,” he said. “If she is displeased with your actions, we will withdraw as she wishes.” he tilted his head to one side. “We are her ally, not yours.”

Leliana frowned at him. “Zevran--”

“Ah, Leliana, would that we could make things as they were during the Blight,” he said, with a totally unconvincing sigh. “But we cannot. Your Chantry has caused far too many problems. We trust the Dalish, so we trust Ambassador Lavellan. Until your people show you are trustworthy, we remain her ally.”

Leliana still looked unhappy, but nodded. Cassandra bore a distinct scowl.

“We understand,” Josephine said, glancing at Leliana and Cassandra. “Many in the Chantry made an effort to sabotage our alliances with other countries. It is only reasonable that you would trust Ambassador Lavellan, but perhaps not the Inquisition.”

Arethin chanced a look at Solas. He looked fascinated, gray eyes gleaming as he watched the interplay between everyone.

“And what of you?” Cassandra asked Lanaya, folding her arms. “What do the Dalish decide?”

Lanaya looked to Arethin. “What is it you need?”

“Mages,” she said immediately. “And herbalists. I could--” she halted, and started again in Dalish. She didn't want more people than were necessary knowing what it was that she asked the Keeper. “I need to go many places,” she said. “Very quickly. The rifts threaten from here to the Approach. I need the eluvian network, Keeper.”

Lanaya was silent for a long time. 

“This is not a small thing you ask,” she said at last, her tone uncertain. 

Arethin suppressed a wince. “I know.”

“We can loan the Orzammar eluvian if you have need,” the Prince-Consort said in very thickly accented Dalish.

“Prince-Consort--” Lanaya protested. 

“Sacrifice is an unpleasant necessity, but one needed to prevent the world from ending,” the Prince-Consort said, switching back to Common. “If the network prevents more places being attacked by demons--”

“I know, I know,” Lanaya sighed, going back to Common as well. “We simply have so few, Lavellan,” she said. “We've run into problems with reactivation--”

Arethin rubbed the back of her head. “I know, but if we don't at least have one, we'll take weeks to get to places that are in need,” she said. “At this rate, I can't even get to places where there are open eluvians. And I'm the only one who can close the rifts. No one else can do it.”

Lanaya closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“What are you speaking of?” Cassandra asked, eyes darting from one of them to the other. 

“You need the network, I cannot dispute that,” Lanaya said, ignoring Cassandra's question.

“The network?” Leliana prompted. 

At length, Lanaya heaved a sigh. “The eluvian network.”

Solas raised his eyebrows. “You have restored enough eluvians to reactivate the network?” he asked.

Arethin, the Prince-Consort and Lanaya all looked at him sharply.

“What do you know of it?” Lanaya asked. 

“I have seen such a thing in the Fade,” Solas explained. 

“He's a somniari,” Arethin added.

Lanaya relaxed. The Prince-Consort didn't.

“Ah, a somniari!” Lanaya said. “You should have said. Yes, we've reactivated the network in part—not the whole thing, and we still are trying to work out how to create an eluvian and link it to the network, but--”

“What is an eluvian?” Cassandra demanded, clearly out of patience.

“A tool used by the ancient elves,” Solas said. “A mirror that, when one walked through it, sent you from one place to another.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows, her expression clearly disbelieving. “Such a thing exists?” 

“Yes, I've used them many times,” Arethin said with a wave. “The only problem is that they're not comfortable for humans.”

“They're not overly pleasant for dwarves, either,” the Prince-Consort said. “Although they don't have any detrimental effect on them.”

“Wait, hold on,” Josephine said. “You are in possession of magical artifacts that can...transport someone anywhere they so choose?”

“Anywhere where there's another open eluvian,” Arethin clarified. “Which is part of the problem.”

“The Orzammar eluvian should be useful enough for now,” the Prince-Consort said, apparently having decided to plow on ahead and avoid explaining how the mirrors worked. “The gates of Orzammar are not nearly so far away as those of Val Royeaux or Denerim.”

“Very true,” Lanaya nodded. “And I believe there are several active eluvians in Orlais that would save time.”

Arethin sighed. “Well, as it stands now, we still need to decide about getting to Val Royeaux,” she said.

“Which I still think is a terrible idea," Josephine said. 

“We should do it,” Cassandra said. 

“I agree,” Leliana nodded. “The more we let the situation go, the more unstable it will get. We cannot have Elthina rallying them against us.”

They ultimately decided that to go to Val Royeaux, they would first travel to Orzammar (greeting Queen Aeducan as well) and use that eluvian to go to an area about a week's travel from Val Royeaux. 

Arethin sighed and ran a hand over her head, taking a deep breath when she left the meeting.

She stood outside the Chantry, her heart pounding.

“Alright there?”

She glanced down, and saw that Varric had come to join her.

“I'm fine,” she said. “I have simply...I have never been in a meeting with the Prince-Consort before, or spoken with Keeper Lanaya. They are very...important.”

Varric grimaced. “Yeah, well, you meet important people when you get important yourself.” 

“And you?” she looked him over. He looked less gaunt than he had before she had left, some more of the color coming back into his face. “Are you well?”

“Well, that hole in the sky is still there, so I'm not as good as I could be.”

“I am working on it, Master Tethras.”

“You know I was in Kirkwall when Queen Aeducan married him,” Varric said, leaning against the wall. 

“The Prince-Consort?”

“Yeah. Craziest damn thing—the dwarves all threw a party, even the surfacers!”

“They wouldn't all be surfacers by that point,” Arethin pointed out. “The Queen had changed the laws by then.”

Varric nodded. “Point.”

“The Prince-Consort is not someone I would call trustworthy,” Cassandra had come out to trust them, a stormy expression on her face.

“You don't know him,” Arethin informed her, scowling. 

“Neither do you.”

“No, but my people and his are allied. Your people drove the Queen and the Prince-Consort away.”

Cassandra's frown grew darker, then she sighed.

“You are right, in that respect,” she growled. “Lambert destroyed many of the Chantry's alliances with others.”

“If you knew it was happening, why did you let it?” Varric demanded. 

Cassandra shook her head and folded her arms. “We thought we could control him,” she said. “So we acted as if we did not know what he planned.”

“And I'm certain that the Orlesians would have disliked an alliance with Orzammar or my people,” Arethin said. 

“Perhaps not Queen Aeducan,” Cassandra pointed out.

“I wouldn't be too sure,” Varric said. “You didn't hear any of the gossip in Kirkwall about her after she got married, I bet it would only be worse in Orlais.” 

Cassandra screwed her face up, clearly unhappy. “That is true,” she admitted. “Such nonsense I heard whenever we visited the court! One would think the court had never so much as seen a dwarf or an elf before.”

“Ambassador Lavellan,” Keeper Lanaya had come outside, and Arethin straightened.

“Keeper?”

“Might I speak with you?”

“Of course.”

Arethin followed Lanaya down to one of the larger aravels, presumably Lanaya's own. It was decorated with Dalish heraldry and the specific heraldry of Clan Leanvunlas. Lanaya hummed to herself and absently stroked the neck of one of the nearby halla. Arethin waited for her to speak, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Where does he come from, the somniari?” Lanaya asked. 

“Somewhere to the north,” Arethin said. “He says he really doesn't know, couldn't place it on a map. Why do you ask?”

Lanaya's eyes narrowed. “Interesting.” she began to pace. “We still have not found that man Felassan.”

“The man who disappeared?” she'd heard all about him. A stranger who'd brought Ambassador Briala to the last meeting, then vanished quite literally into thin air. Arethin frowned. “Do you think Solas has something to do with him?”

“I'm not certain,” Lanaya frowned. “I simply find his presence...suspicious.”

“He saved my life,” Arethin said. “If he's some kind of spy, I couldn't tell you what his plan is.”

“How likely is it that an untrained mage—an untrained _somniari_ —lives to adulthood, let alone to be middle-aged?” Lanaya posited. 

“He's had some training,” Arethin said. “At least enough to know some control, and he says he's been isolated most of his life—that's how he avoided any of the nastier spirits.”

Lanaya pressed her lips together. “Keep an eye on him,” she advised. “There are still the strangest dreams—spirits keep speaking of friends and enemies who have arrived, who we don't have names for.”

Arethin furrowed her brow. “If you wish, Keeper,” she said. “But he's given me no reason to doubt him.”


	4. I Saw A Blackened Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clan quansyroth is the horse girl clan

Hardly as soon as Arethin and her companions had returned to Haven, they were off again. This time, Varric insisted on coming, and nothing could be done to sway him. He did indeed finally look healthy enough to suit Arethin, so she allowed it. When they were on their way out of the gates, the Prince-Consort rode up beside them on a fine-bred horse.

“We will come with you,” the Prince-Consort said. “We must return to our lady wife, after all.”

“Of course,” Arethin inclined her head. Disregarding Cassandra's scowl, she added “It would be an honor to travel with you, Majesty.” 

So, the Prince-Consort joined them on their trip. A few days in, Varric decided to start asking questions.

“So, Queen Aeducan and you...how did that happen?”

Arethin winced at Varric's overly familiar tone, but the Prince-Consort didn't seem to mind. When he replied, it was in a fairly familiar tone as well.

“Have you not heard the story?” he asked, aghast. “I encountered my lady wife in the Deep Roads, where she rescued us from a broodmother. Then we came across the paragon Caridin, who, against all sense and reason, was still alive, and he gave her a crown. Then we returned to Orzammar, where she threw her useless brother from the throne and was crowned herself.” he sighed dreamily. 

“Why was this paragon still alive?” Solas asked. “I was under the impression that there were no paragons within this Age.”

“Well, that is not entirely correct,” the Prince-Consort said. “But it is a long story. Caridin had been entrapped within the body of a golem, and had spent many hundreds of years guarding the anvil upon which he was made.” 

“Interesting,” Solas' brow furrowed. “How did that happen?”

“It was how all golems were made,” he explained. “I am no master smith, but as I understand it, in order to animate a golem one must put the spirit of a dwarf inside of it.”

“How is such a thing accomplished?” Cassandra asked. “That sounds rather like magic.”

“That is what Surana said!” the Prince-Consort laughed. “Caridin claimed it was not magic, but truly I do not know.”

“And then after she was crowned Queen...what happened then?” Varric pressed.

“Oh, I left to help finish the Blight,” the Prince-consort waved a hand. “Surana still needed my assistance. Then I had some business of my own to deal with, and of course, my lady wife needed to change many things in our fair city. Then I returned and we were wed.”

“And what did Orzammar think of her marrying you?” Varric asked. “They're such sticklers for tradition, you'd think they'd never allow it.”

“Well, my lady wife was crowned by a paragon, so she may do as she pleases,” the Prince-Consort grinned. 

Varric raised his eyebrows. “And all the laws she made, reforming Orzammar? I was pretty surprised at those, let me tell you.”

“Funny, so were the rest of the deshyrs! She had had a great change of heart from being in the Deep Roads, and saw that change must be made if Orzammar was to survive. So change Orzammar she did.”

Their trip was mostly quiet. Cassandra kept eyeing the Prince-Consort with barely disguised suspicion, but nothing came of it. Varric and Solas both questioned the Prince-Consort at length, and he was quite happy to answer their questions, speaking on Queen Aeducan't decisions and on the intricacies of life in Orzammar. 

“I still can't believe the Queen managed to get all those old traditions overturned,” Varric said, shaking his head. “Thousands of years, and poof! She just undoes them all, like that.”

“Well, it is not quite so simple as that,” the Prince-consort said. “She would never have been able to make so many changes if she did not have Caridin's blessing, for one. That has been vital.”

“I mean—making the Casteless not Casteless, and then making it so Orzammar dwarves can go to the surface?” Varric shook his head. “That's still something.”

The Prince-Consort smiled. “Indeed it is, my friend.”

“Personally, I find the alliance between the dwarves and the Dalish is the most fascinating aspect,” Solas said. 

The Prince-Consort nodded. “In the past, they have not been so close,” he said. “But after Orzammar and the Dalish both worked with King Alistair to stop the Blight, they made several beneficial arrangements.”

After two weeks of travel, they came to the gates of Orzammar.

The gates to Orzammar towered over them, taller than the tallest tree Arethin had ever seen in her life. 

She had been to Orzammar before, but the gates always shocked her. They were absolutely massive, carved with intricate geometric designs and kept closed with huge mechanisms and locks that were the size of wagon-wheels. 

The guards at the gates stood up straight and bowed to the Prince-Consort, and let them through without any kind of fuss, which was a nice change of pace. Normally Arethin had to spend an hour arguing with them before she or her Clan could be let in. 

Inside, Orzammar was as busy and colorful as ever. The shock of the Breach seemed not to have hit them, as the citizens went about their day as normal. There were seemingly countless dwarves and dwarrowdams, many Dalish and non-Dalish elves, even a Vashoth or two. The only race underrepresented was humans, as they only spotted one or two (dressed in telltale mages' robes), and there were many stares directed at Cassandra. 

Everyone talked and bartered and shouted at each other resulting in a sound that was rather deafening. There was magic performed openly, and there were many merchants selling enchanted items, precious stones and jewelry, even spices and furs (though most of that trade came from the Dalish and Vashoth merchants). 

Statues and elaborate mosaics decorated the city, and it seemed to fairly glitter with jewels and magical lights. The statues were mostly of dwarves, with some animals, but the mosaics depicted a wide variety of scenes, many of which had elves in them. The Blight, the alliance between the Dalish and Orzammar, Queen Aeducan and Prince-Consort Arainai's marriage—all this and more were represented with tiles that gleamed in the light.

“I wonder what dreams this place holds,” Solas murmured, looking around, clearly fascinated. 

“A great many, if I understand things correctly,” the Prince-Consort smiled at him. 

“Y'know, I haven't been here in years,” Varric said, eyeing the merchants and the buildings. “It looks better than it used to.”

“When were you here last?” Arethin asked.

“Oh, a long time ago,” he explained. “before the Blight.”

“Ah, before the reign of my lady wife,” the Prince-Consort nodded.

“I have heard endless complaints from the Lord Seeker about this place,” Cassandra said, looking around with wide eyes.

“Why?” Arethin asked.

"Many mages fled here after the Blight,” she explained. “But Templars were turned away.”

“That, my dear Seeker, is because Templars do not have the manners that apostates do,” the Prince-Consort grinned as he looked round at Cassandra. Cassandra scowled. 

“What do you mean?”

“They liked to think they could just come and take people whenever they so chose. Apostates do us the favor of getting their papers in order, or supplying things we need. What do Templars do? Scare people and wave their swords around.” his grin turned wicked. “In more ways than one.”

Cassandra looked appalled. 

“There have never been any Templars here in all the times my Clan came to trade,” Arethin said. 

“That is for a very good reason.” the Prince-Consort said. "Likely our Dalish trading partners would have refused to come if we let Templars in."

Cassandra shook her head. “And you have no fear of magic? None of demons?”

“Why would we?” the Prince-Consort asked her honestly. “The mages who come here are Vashoth, or Dalish, or Avvar, or escaped from the Circle. Only the Avvar are very prone to spirit-summoning, and it has never been a problem before.”

Cassandra stared at him, and the Prince-Consort turned away. 

“Perhaps Circles are not so needed as so many would believe,” Arethin said, her tone forcibly light.

They continued on, the crowd parting before the Prince-Consort, till they entered the district where the Royal Palace lay. The Prince-Consort dismounted his horse and went to the gates, where a dwarrowdam with long black hair stood in full armor.

“ _Mi amor_!” The Prince-Consort waved, and Queen Aeducan ran to him. She pulled him down into a deep kiss, and it was a long moment before they broke apart. 

The Queen looked at Arethin and her companions, who had followed the Prince-Consort. 

“We are pleased to meet you,” she said. “We are even more pleased that you brought our lord husband back in one piece.”

Prince-Consort Arainai laughed softly and leaned down to brush a kiss on Queen Aeducan's cheek.

“Come,” the Prince-Consort said. “They must use the eluvian.”

Queen Aeducan nodded. “Of course,” she said, and lead them inside.

The Orzammar eluvian had an interesting history. 

It was placed in the palace after much contention, and there was a great deal of disagreement about it on the side of the Coalition. None of the Dalish wanted to relinquish such an artifact to the hands of dwarves, however close their alliance was. Those who wanted the eluvian there cited this alliance, and the reasoning was that it would be well-protected in the palace, away from the hands of humans who might destroy it. 

Eventually, the arguing had deferred to Keeper Merrill, who was at the time the only person who could restore the eluvians with consistency. She had agreed to put it there.

The mirror had been restored by Keeper Merrill herself, but the frame was a dwarven one, as the original frame had been too damaged to use. The frame was made of gold and silver, with images of dwarves and elves set into it, as well as depictions of trees, flowering vines, and the harder lines of buildings and architecture. 

“And...no one is bothered by this...thing?” Cassandra asked, regarding the eluvian with some trepidation.

“Why would we be bothered?” Queen Aeducan said, her expression placid.

“Is it not...dangerous?”

“Eluvians can be dangerous, if the spellwork is decayed or damaged,” Solas said, gingerly touching the frame. “But this one appears to be in well order.”

“Do you know eluvians well?” the Queen asked. “Are you a student of Keeper Merrill?”

Solas shook his head. “I have simply come across broken ones before,” he said. “This one is not broken.”

“I should hope not,” the Prince-Consort said. "We use it a great deal."

“Come,” Arethin said. “We should go.” she turned to the Queen and the Prince-Consort. “Mas serannas, your Majesties,” she said, bowing deeply.

“Of course,” Queen Aeducan inclined her head. “The world cannot be allowed to perish. If you have need of us, you need only ask.”

They went through the eluvian, and Cassandra went pale.

“How can you _stand_ this place?” she demanded.

“You will be alright,” Arethin said. “It is not harmful. The Crossroads simply reject humans.”

Cassandra glared at her, sweat already beading on her forehead.

“Come along,” Arethin said. “It isn't far.” 

They walked through the Crossroads, this area like a misty courtyard. Some parts of the network were more open, filled with streams and plants, but others, like this place, were darker, the sky like a calm twilight. Strange statues dotted the landscape, heavily stylized elves and animals, and there were benches and some flowering plants. Only a few of the hundreds of eluvians here glowed. 

Varric shuddered. “Do you seriously do this all the time?” he asked.

“It doesn't look to you as it does to elves,” Arethin told him. “For us, it's much more pleasant.”

“Pleasant?”

“Yes,” Arethin spotted a tree that bore pale violet flowers and walked over to it. “Do you see this?”

“A dead tree?”

She shook her head. “It isn't. It has flowers.” she picked one of the flowers, and gave it to him. 

He stared down at it, and after a moment, it crumbled in his hand. “Andraste's ass...”

“It is possible that because this place was built originally for elvhen use, and the spells are so delicate, that the Crossroads respond differently to different races,” Solas said. 

“Exactly,” Arethin nodded. “Keeper Merrill says that it's a bit like using medicine meant for an elvhen body on a non-elvhen patient. It won't hurt you, but it won't work quite right.”

Arethin spotted the eluvian they were here for.

“This way,” Arethin pointed to an eluvian that glowed silvery-green and whose frame imitated climbing vines and flowers. 

They came out of the eluvian into a huge room, a ruin that Arethin recognized.

Cassandra sighed in relief, her color returning. 

“Those are awful,” she declared.

“Only for you,” Arethin retorted. “No one else has a problem with them.”

“They're a little creepy,” Varric piped up. “But other than that...”

Cassandra looked at all of them. “None of you felt it?' she demanded. 

“No,” Arethin said. “Dwarves and elves and Vashoth are all just fine when they go through.”

“But only humans have trouble.”

“Exactly.”

“Where are we?” Solas asked, glancing around, fascinated. The room that they entered was enormous, and the eluvian stood in the center. It was a grand central chamber, or it had once been grand. The ceiling was high overhead, and there were many elegant and ancient statues that depicted elves and halla. 

“One of the ruins in Orlais, about two weeks away from Val Royeaux. We use it to visit the cities,” Arethin said. “I don't know what this one used to be. Not a temple, or a burial ground, I don't think...” 

“Perhaps something of a more earthly nature,” Solas suggested, walking up to one of the statues and narrowing his eyes at it.

“What do you think?”

“I could not say, unless I walked in dreams here. Perhaps a theater of some kind?” 

“This is not a Dalish ruin?” Cassandra asked.

Arethin shook her head. “No—this one is older. One of the ruins of Elvhenan.” she lead them out of the room and down a long hallway. “There should be other Dalish around here somewhere,” she explained. “There are always some people guarding active eluvians.” 

They found the Dalish in a nearby courtyard that was more open to the sky. There were only three, all well-armed, a woman and two men. 

“First Lavellan!” one of the Dalish, a very short woman with thick black hair, got to her feet when she saw them. “Ander'an atish'an! Your journey went well?” she glanced at Cassandra.

“Well enough,” Arethin assured her. “You were expecting us?”

“Indeed we were. I am Halla-keeper Ardeque, to Clan Quansyroth,” the woman said. Arethin blinked in surprise. Clan Quansyroth were an eccentric lot, focused mainly on halla, harts, and a medley of exotic mounts, to the exclusion of all else. They had once brought a moose to an Arlathvhen. “My Clan heard you needed some help getting to Val Royeaux.” 

“Yes. Might we use some of your supplies--?”

The woman laughed. “Sister, we can do better than some supplies!” she lead the group over to the lone aravel, where several mounts waited. Two harts, three ponies, and two Arethin's surprise, two warhorses. 

“Here,” Ardeque said. “You need a proper mount to go and tangle with those Chantry folk.” she pointed to one of the harts, a large animal with an impressive set of antlers. “There.” 

“A hart!” Arethin exclaimed, staring from the hart to the halla-keeper. Clan Quansyroth were very loathe to part from their beloved animals, even more so than other Clans. “Oh—I couldn't--” 

The halla-keeper laughed. “You need better than an old horse,” she said. “And those shemlen idiots would slaughter any halla that got close. You need a hart.”

“But--”

“Take the hart, Ambassador.”

Arethin sighed, and patted the neck of the massive animal. “Very well,” she said. “What about my companions?”

The halla-keeper looked them over and hummed. “You,” she pointed to Varric, who blinked at her. “You need a pony,” she said. “Let me guess—all these tall humans wanted to put you on a horse?”

“That's usually the impulse,” he said with a grimace.

“Come here,” she lead him to a buff-colored pony, very sturdy and solid. “She'll see you through.”

“I'm not really one for riding--”

“Nonsense. Take the pony.” 

Varric still looked uncertain, but at a glance from Arethin, he sighed. “Alright,” he said. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” Ardeque turned on Cassandra and Solas. “And you...you need a proper warhorse,” she informed Cassandra. 

“That would be...beneficial,” Cassandra glanced at Arethin, who nodded. 

“Of course it would,” Ardeque shared an exasperated look with the two hunters. “Here,” she lead Cassandra to one of the warhorses, an absolutely enormous creature that looked like it could bash through a metal gate with its head alone. 

“You have my thanks,” Cassandra said. 

The halla-keeper paused when she got to Solas. “Hm...” she tapped her lip. “You're too tall for a pony, and I don't think a warhorse...” 

“I do not ride with frequency,” Solas told her. 

“Any fool could see that,” Ardeque waved a hand. She hummed to herself for another moment, then snapped her fingers. “Ah! I know!” she circled round the aravel and brought over an animal that resembled a halla or a hart, only it was smaller than a hart and larger and more sturdy than a halla. “Here,” she waved Solas over to the animal. “This one's called a reindeer,” she explained. “She'll be good for you.” 

“I've never seen such an animal,” Solas examined the reindeer with interest. “Where does she come from?” 

“Far to the south,” Ardeque explained. “At the far edge of the Korcari Wilds, where it's so cold even the sea turns to ice. Damn near killed myself bringing one back,” she said with a grin. 

“Are you certain?” Solas asked, putting one hand gingerly on the reindeer's neck.

“Of course I am.” Ardeque rolled her eyes. “Anyhow, if you have need of any more mounts, give us a shout. Can't have the savior of the world running around with something...less than decent,” she grimaced. “Now—what else did you need, First Lavellan?” she asked Arethin.

They left the ruin after taking their supplies, and set out on the lightly-trod path away from it. 

“The horsemistress--” Cassandra started.

“Halla-keeper,” Arethin corrected.

“Halla-keeper,” Cassandra agreed. “She was very kind to procure us mounts.” she patted the neck of her horse.

“More than kind,” Arethin said. “Clans hardly ever give their mounts away, and Clan Quansyroth is even more strict about their animals than anyone else.”

“They must deem our work of great importance, then,” Solas said. 

Arethin nodded.

“Quansyroth—that's kind of a mouthful of a name,” Varric said. “It hardly even sounds Dalish.”

“Well—they're a little—eccentric,” Arethin said. “If you ask the Keeper about anything but halla or horses, she'll look at you as if she has no idea why you even thought of the question. They _adore_ their animals, and if you want to know about just any kind of animal, they're the ones you should call upon. They have a moose.”

It was this last fact, about the moose, that was always the most surprising to Arethin.

“Who is even tall enough to ride a moose?” Cassandra wanted to know.

“I have no idea,” Arethin admitted. “They also have these—ah—they're called dracolisks, some sort of—domesticated drake?” 

The others made exclamations of shock. 

“Who is mad enough to domesticate a drake?” Cassandra demanded.

“And why would you want to ride one of those?” Varric asked. 

“I haven't the faintest idea,” Arethin said. “They're smaller than moose, though. But the Clan was very generous,” she added. “More generous than I'd seen them before, actually, especially to outsiders.” 

“We must remember to thank them,” Cassandra murmured.

Val Royeaux was not well. 

The siege had made its mark on the city. Gone were the gilt and decoration of Val Royeaux under Empress Celene. There were many empty places where statues or murals should have been, like the gap left behind by a lost tooth. There were more boarded up buildings, more beggars, and more exhausted-looking guards bearing weapons that had been well-used. The city may have stood, but the people were frightened and wary, the colors and vitality drained out of it. 

The place that had once been the jewel of Orlais was now dark and cold, and though the people might recover in the future, this place would forever bear scars. 

People stared at them as they rode their mounts down the main street, and Arethin didn't blame them at all. There was a terrible fear and wariness in their gaunt faces.

“Maker...” Cassandra breathed, looking around.

“You were here during the siege, were you not?” Solas asked quietly.

“I was,” Cassandra admitted. “But I did not...it was not like this.” 

“Sometimes recovery is worse than the wound,” Solas said. 

“Should we keep riding, or should we walk, Cassandra?” Arethin asked.

Cassandra considered. “We should probably walk,” she said. “We do not want to seem like invaders.”

They all dismounted, but Arethin did not wish to be parted from her hart, so they lead their mounts further down instead of tying them up somewhere. 

“Lady Cassandra!” a hooded woman waved them down.

“You are one of Leliana's people, are you not?” Cassandra asked, recognizing her as she came closer.

The woman nodded. “The clerics here have heard of your coming, and gathered on the other side of the square, there,” she pointed down the way. “They fear the Inquisition.”

“All of them?” Arethin asked. “Even the ones loyal to Justinia?”

The woman nodded again.

Cassandra sighed and shook her head. “Of course,” she gritted her teeth. “They worry about us rather than the Breach.”

“How surprising is that, really?” Varric asked.

“Send word to Leliana,” Cassandra instructed the spy. “We will return as soon as we are able.”

The spy nodded and was off at a run, while the four of them continued on. The street to the square was lined with statues, many of them broken or damaged, and an abandoned cart lay off to one side.

“This seems like a really bad idea,” Varric muttered.

“Varric, that is not helpful, and I hardly see you coming up with any better ideas,” Arethin sniped, nervousness making her patience wear thin. “As a matter of fact, I seem to recall that _your_ advice was to run.”

Cassandra glared at Varric.

“Look, none of this has been a good idea,” Varric said, holding his hands up. “I'm not contesting that.” 

“Well, we can all tell that much.”

Varric sighed and fell silent. Cassandra continued to glare at him. 

The market square was very large, and clearly had once been a gathering place for many merchants and stores. Now, however, many of the windows and doors were boarded up, and no merchants sold their wares here. There were more cracked statues and plaster decorations, even some scorchmarks. Far on the other side of the square, there was the shining gleam of the bay. 

It was very crowded. Many guards in full armor, peasants in ragged clothes, nobles in their own finery, some looking better than others. They were all gathered around a central point, a dais upon which a Mother in Chantry robes stood. The hem of her robes was ragged and gray with ash.

Arethin and her companions approached, parting the crowd before them and gaining many looks, ranging from curious to fearful to outright hostile.

“Good people of Val Royeaux,” the Mother called. “Hear me! We have all suffered hardships, and we mourn that the Chantry has been divided as it has not been since Tevinter declared their heretical Divine.” 

Mutters of both agreement and disagreement swept through the crowd. Even more people began to stare.

“Definitely a bad idea,” Varric muttered, and Cassandra shushed him.

“We wonder who it was who destroyed the Conclave, who ruined the chance for peace, for reunification,” the Mother said, glaring at Arethin, and the crowd began to part more dramatically, leaving Arethin and her companions alone. “Well, wonder no more! There is the saboteur, the attacker who would destroy all of Thedas with her venom! They say she is the Herald of Andraste—but the Maker would send no _elf_ as his Herald!”

The crowd began to rumble, growing more hostile, and Cassandra put a hand on her sword. 

“We say, this is a false prophet, raised by the Inquisition, who has taken the word of Divine Justinia and used it to their own ends!”

“I never claimed to be your prophet,” Arethin called, cutting the Mother off. “There's some who call me the Hand of Mythal, and say the woman in the rift was not Andraste, but was a goddess of my people. None of you can say that that story is more right or wrong than the first.”

The Mother looked aghast, and several of the nobles began muttering to themselves about heathen Dalish gods. 

“All that is known is that I, and I _alone_ , can heal the rifts in the sky, and repair the Breach,” Arethin said. 

“It's true,” Cassandra added, moving forward. “I have seen it! She can close the rifts, and she stopped the Breach from growing!”

“How are we to know that is the truth?” the Mother demanded. “How are we to know this is not some Dalish ploy—one of your heathen people has already made his way into the bed of the dwarven Queen!”

“If it was, you would know it,” Arethin said. She snorted. “Why should we do anything to you? You are already destroying yourselves.”

The Mother looked down her nose at Arethin. “We know the Dalish want our lands,” she said. “You would take what has been rightfully ours for centuries—you have many reasons to attack us.”

“Ah, but don't you have the blessing of the Maker?” Arethin asked. “You claim that for yourself, do you not? If you did, He would never have allowed us to pose a threat.” 

The Mother glared at her. “That is not--”

“And if that is not the case, you must be guilty of something,” she hissed, venom seeping into her voice.

“Guilty?” the Mother was aghast, and several nobles began muttering amongst themselves, outraged. “You, a heathen who claims the name of Herald, say we are _guilty_?”

“Why else would you fear our involvement?” Arethin demanded. “People hate because they fear, or they do not understand, or because they are _guilty_. And those who have done what your Chantry has have a great many reasons to be guilty.”

“In any case,” Cassandra cut across Arethin, shooting her a sidelong glance. “We must close the Breach now, before it is too late! The only chance we have is if we all stand together!”

“And how do we know this is not a plot of yours?” the Mother demanded, pointing at Cassandra. “Some scheme against Divine Themistoclea--”

Cassandra stiffened, appalled. “You cannot claim--”

There was a shout from the other end of the square, and immediately, the entire crowd stepped back as one.

The Mother turned towards the new party. “The Templars have returned to us!” her tone was relieved, almost worshipful. “They did not suffer your like before, Pentaghast, and they will not now!”

Despite the Mother's conviction, several of the other Clerics backed up, nervous, as did the people around them. The Mother made no such movement, face profoundly relieved. The relief did not last long as, when she did not move aside for one of the Templars, he struck her across the face. She cried out and fell to the ground, and a gasp went up in the crowd.

Arethin and her group unsheathed their weapons as one as a man bearing the Lord Seeker's armor approached them. 

The man was tall, and thin, and bore no helmet, which exposed his sallow skin and graying hair.

“Lucius,” Cassandra growled. “I had wondered what was to happen when Lambert vanished.”

“Pentaghast,” Lucius sneered. “Now dragging a heretical order behind you, but without any Most Holy at your side. I see your standards have slipped greatly.”

“You and Elthina attacked Justinia,” Cassandra snarled. “You betrayed your own Order!”

“I betrayed nothing,” Lucius said. “You have no proof of your claims,” he turned his gaze to Arethin, and eyed her staff. “And you have taken up with heathen mages. Pathetic.”

“As far as I can tell,” Arethin drawled, twirling her staff in one hand, and trying to sound more confident than she truly felt. “You are the only one here who has any reason to have committed a crime. Your order attacked Justinia once already, according to Cassandra—there is no reason you would not do it again.”

Lucius ignored her words, once again focusing on Cassandra. “And you, Pentaghast, would have more than enough reason to attack Divine Theostoclea.” 

“She is no Divine!” Cassandra pointed an accusing finger at Lucius. “You tried to kill Justinia, but Elthina still stands! You are the one who allowed Dubois to lay siege to Val Royeaux—this is not our doing!”

“Baseless accusations,” Lucius curled his lip. 

“Enough,” Arethin got between them, holding up her marked hand. “Whoever did what, the sky is bleeding. We do not trust you or your Divine, Lucius, but for the sake of the world—can you not see what must be done?”

“The Inquisition stands with Andraste's Herald,” Cassandra said, not taking her eyes off of Lucius. “What of you?”

Lucius looked down his nose at Arethin. “You are a distraction,” he proclaimed. “A pretty toy for the Inquisition. Divine Themistoclea has declared that her predecessor's death was an act of the Maker, and she will tend to the Breach. No heathen witch will interfere.”

Arethin's lip curled. “If that is so, are you here to kill me?” she demanded. “Are you going to attack the Inquisition, the Dalish, the dwarves? For we have taken steps to close the Breach, but I see nothing from you.” 

“I came to see if your Inquisition is a threat,” he drawled, his eyes cold as a reptile's. “As I can quite clearly tell, it is not. You have shown me less than nothing.”

“The Breach would have grown until it ate everything, were it not for me,” Arethin snarled. “Redcliffe, overrun by demons, if not for me. And what have you done? Hid in your fortress and plotted more mindless bloodshed.”

Lucius turned away from her. “There is nothing for us here,” he said, his voice booming so all could be heard. “The Templars have betrayed no one and nothing—it is the true Divine who has been betrayed, by the sinners of this world.” 

“What of those Templars who have turned on you?” Arethin called as he and his accompaniment left. “How much of an army are you, when your own soldiers betray you?” he ignored her, and the entire crowd hung back, letting him leave. 

There was a long silence. Arethin shook her head. 

“I had hoped...” Cassandra sighed. “With the Breach, and with Lambert gone, perhaps the Seekers had regained their senses.”

“Why now, of all times?” Varric asked. “If they hadn't before...”

“We have truly been abandoned,” the Mother who had spoken before spoke again, and they turned to her. Her face was already developing a nasty bruise. “First this terrible schism, and the war, and now the Templars forsake us...”

Arethin scowled. She pushed her way through the crowd, towards the woman. The woman attempted to scramble backwards, but Arethin leaned down and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Let me see that," she snapped, taking the Mother's chin and examining her face with a gentleness that belied her harsh tone. "You're lucky he didn't break your jaw."

"Let _go_ \--" the Mother hissed, but Arethin glared at her.

"Stop," she said. "Haven't you ever seen a physician before? Or were you too busy screaming about how I'm a heretic to notice?"

The Mother swallowed her retort, and the other surrounding them glanced at each other. 

"It so happens that I have something that can help," Arethin reached into her belt pouch and withdrew a container of salve she kept for such occasions. The Mother flinched when she opened it, and Arethin rolled her eyes. "All it is is embrium and elfroot to heal," she said, putting the salve where the bruise was worst. "Some deathroot for the pain, and mint to make it smell like something other than embrium." 

She finished tending to the woman's face, and looked over her work with a critical eye. 

"There," she said, and got to her feet. 

The Mother stared at her, gingery touching her jaw. "You..." she blinked, looking confused.

"The words you are looking for are 'thank you,'" Arethin snapped. 

"Why?"

Arethin's mouth tightened. She leaned in closer to the Mother. "Perhaps I have more compassion in me than your Templars," she said, and couldn't resist twisting the knife a little. Her eyes darted to where Cassandra stood a little ways away. "Perhaps we Dalish witches have been right when we say that the Templars are not our friends."

Several around her flinched. 

“Here is something that I shall promise you,” Arethin said, raising her voice and turning so the assembled crowd could hear her. “I _will_ close the Breach. I am the only one that can do it. And if you put your faith in Templars, or in Divines, or in the Maker, nothing will happen. We have seen what your faith has done—and it has ruined you all.”

Arethin turned and swept away before the crowd could react.

“Perhaps not the wisest choice of words, even if true,” Solas said, catching up with her. “Very few people wish to see their beliefs questioned.”

“It was their beliefs that started this,” Arethin informed him. “And see where they are now.”

“I did not say you were incorrect.”

Arethin climbed up onto her hart, and likewise, Solas mounted his reindeer. 

“What do you think I should have said?” she demanded of him, but was cut off when Cassandra and Varric caught up with them, both of them on their mounts as well.

“You should not have said that,” Cassandra chided. “They will think you antagonistic—this is no way to gain the trust of the last of Justinia's supporters--”

“They're hens, running around with their heads cut off,” Arethin snapped. “If they still think they can rely on the Templars after what they did--” 

“They are _afraid_ ,” Cassandra retorted. “If both the Inquisition and Elthina give them cause to fear, they will never join us!”

“Then, it is possible your organization is past the point of no return,” Solas said. “If even this calamity cannot reunite you, it is possible that nothing will.”

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine, Chuckles,” Varric said, rolling his eyes.

“A building rotted in its foundation will collapse,” Solas said. “As will any organization if it is corrupt enough.”

Cassandra sighed and shook her head. “I hope you are wrong,” she said. “The Chantry's collapse would spell chaos for the south.”

“And the Breach does not?”

Cassandra opened her mouth, but was cut off. An arrow slammed into the ground in front of Arethin's hart, who was startled into stepping back. 

“What's that?” Cassandra had her sword out in a flash, and Solas summoned a barrier, but no other arrows came. 

Varric got off his pony and leaned down the inspect the arrow.

“Red Jennies,” Varric chuckled. He picked up the arrow and held up a piece of paper that had been attached to it. “Looks like they want to be friends.”

“Red Jennies?” Arethin frowned. “I've never heard of them before.”

“You wouldn't have, unless you lived in a city. Bunch of troublemakers mostly, but they can be handy to have on your side.”

“What does that say?”

He held it out to her, and she read it over. 

She wrinkled her nose. “It's instructions for some kind of...scavenger hunt,” she said. 

“That's Jennies, all right,” Varric said. 

“This seems like a waste of time.”

Varric shook his head. “No, this might be a good idea—if you piss them off, you run the risk of them screwing up shipments and intercepting missives for months. They're not a big threat, but they are a pretty big nuisance. Got on their bad side once—not about to do that again in a hurry.”

“In that case, we must at least speak with them, if only to convince them to leave us in peace,” Solas said.

“I do not know...” Cassandra's expression was doubtful.

“Well...we should at least see what they want,” Arethin pointed out. “It hardly does to reject allies in a time like this.”

The note contained clues that they followed, and in the locations indicated, they found several red boxes, each with more clues. 

During this hunt, the others had questions for Arethin. 

"Why did you help the Mother?" Cassandra asked. "You had such harsh words for all of them."

Arethin shrugged. "I wanted to make sure that Templar hadn't broken her jaw."

"We probably would have known if that was the case," Varric said. 

"Not necessarily," Arethin said. "And either way, that is one Mother who will now have doubts about whether I am an enemy or not."

"And a large group of people who will, as well," Solas said softly. 

"You'll probably confuse them," Varric said. He was staring at Arethin with narrowed, considering eyes. 

"It is...admirable that you think to help, even when you do not believe them to be allies," Cassandra said. 

"Should I not?"

"No, it is simply...I had not realized you felt that way." her eyes darted to Arethin's. "You have not exactly gone out of your way to be kind before."

Arethin's mouth pressed into a hard line, and her stomach knotted. Just as she was considering how to answer Cassandra, Solas came to her defense. 

"We are in extraordinary circumstances, Seeker," he said. "Many people react differently to such circumstances."

"I suppose you are correct," Cassandra said with one last curious glance towards Arethin. 

Arethin wasn't sure what to feel about Cassandra's curiosity. Cassandra was beginning to look at her differently, not with that fervent religious gleam in her eyes or with disapproval. Ordinary curiosity, Arethin had little concept of how to handle. 

The final box lead them to a villa outside of Val Royeaux and slightly to the north of the city. 

“This is a trap,” Cassandra gritted as they approached the house. 

“Then we should at least see who wants us to come here,” Arethin said. “I hardly fancy getting an arrow in the shoulder the next time this happens, do you?”

Cassandra growled to herself, and insisted upon taking point.

There were mercenaries in the villa, but sloppy, underequipped and easy to defeat. 

Cassandra stepped on the neck of one of them who was injured but alive.

“Who brought us here?” she demanded.

“I don't—I don't know who you are,” the mercenary babbled. “We're just here for the robe--”

“The robe?” Arethin asked.

“A mage,” Varric said. “What mage has a villa?”

“This becomes more curious the longer we are here,” Solas said. “I believe we should investigate further.”

They went deeper into the villa, until they went through a door and Cassandra narrowly avoided a fireball. 

A man in noble's clothes and a mask stood on a set of steps opposite them, his hands ablaze.

“Herald of Andraste,” the mage sneered through his Orlesian mask. “How much did it cost the Inquisition to find me?”

“I don't know who you are,” Arethin said. “Unless you're a red Jenny, I'm here to meet someone else.”

“You can't fool me,” the mage put his hands on his hips. “I'm too important not to know!”

Arethin and her companions all exchanged baffled looks.

“ _Oi_!”

In an archway on the other side of the room appeared the silhouette of a young woman, bearing a large longbow that she drew without any apparent effort.

“Just say what!” she called.

“What is the meaning of--” the mage got out before the woman landed an arrow in his neck. The man gurgled and fell, the arrow having gone right through his throat and out the other side.

“Well, that's a nice surprise,” Varric said.

“Ugh!” the woman stepped out into the light She was an elf with ragged blonde hair, dressed in a tattered red tunic and a pair of leggings. She walked over and retrieved her arrow from the man. “Squishy one, but you heard me, right?” she grinned in Arethin's direction. “Just say 'what!'” she laughed. “Rich tits always try for more than they deserve.”

“Well, that is...true, in my experience,” Arethin said, blinking in bafflement. “Are you one of the Jennies?”

The woman nodded and turned to face them. “Yeah, that's right!” she smiled, but then her face fell as she caught sight of Arethin. “And...you're an elf,” the elvhen woman wrinkled her nose. “Hope you're not...too elfy.”

“What does that mean?” Arethin asked, straightening her back. 

The woman traced the lines of Arethin's vallaslin with her eyes. “You know all, 'Tevinter took our stuff! I'm better than you because I draw on my face!' All that bollocks.”

“Well, I'm not so worried about either of those things,” Arethin said. “The only thing I _am_ worried about is closing that hole in the sky.”

The woman's face lit up again, and she glanced at the gleaming mark on Arethin's hand. “You're going to fix it, yeah?” she asked. “You're going to make everything normal again?”

“I shall try.”

The woman let out a cackling laugh. “Brilliant!” she said. “Bloody great! That stupid thing in the sky's just made everythin' worse for everyone.”

“One cannot argue with that,” Arethin said. “Now. I am Arethin Nadur Lavellan. And _you_ are?”

“What?” she blinked. “Oh, yeah! Well, here, in your face, I'm Sera.”

“And this man you shot?” Arethin asked, nodding down at the corpse.

“I don't know, dunno this idiot from manners,” Sera said with a shrug. “Friends just said he was a bad one—kind of bastard who beats his servants, all that shite.”

“Then your organization helps servants?” Solas asked.

Sera looked him over and frowned. “You're elfy too,” she groaned. “And—are you _both_ mages?” she asked, seeing their staffs.

“Is that a problem?” Arethin asked.

“I mean...sort of.” She grimaced. “I mean, with the demons and everythin', right?”

“Well, we shall not summon any demons, I promise,” Arethin said. “Neither of us are that kind of mage.”

“Can't you make a mistake and do it anyway or something?” she scrunched up her nose.

“That is something Circle mages are prone to,” Solas said, with more than a bit of disdain to his voice. “Apostates and Dalish mages don't have nearly the same problem.”

Cassandra grumbled under her breath.

“Oh,” Sera blinked. “Well—that's alright, I s'pose. Still weird, but whatever. But yeah, Jennies help servants and peasants and all the little people that big people like to push around, see?”

Arethin nodded. “I think so,” she said. “And your people want to help close the Breach?”

“We heard about you, with the glowing, and we—well, I did—figured I want things to be normal again, like. Tryin' to get in before you're too big to like, yeah?”

“Well, we could always use the help,” Arethin said. “Why don't you come with us?”

Sera made a face. “Come with you? I know you lot are all at Haven. I can get there myself.”

“Our way is faster. Trust me.”

Sera squinted at them, suspicious, then she cackled. “Oh, you are somethin',” she said. “Sure, I'll come with—but it better not be anythin' weird.”

“I can't promise that,” Arethin said. 

“Actually, it's pretty weird,” Varric said. 

“Ugh!” Sera stuck her tongue out. “No.” 

“It's either take three months to get to Haven, or cut that time in half and come with us,” Arethin said. “Your choice.” she turned on her heel and started on the way back out of the villa. 

Sera groaned. “Oh... _fine_!” she said, and hurried to catch up. “It better not hurt,” she said. 

Arethin was startled into genuine laughter. This girl reminded her rather strongly of some people from her own Clan. “It won't.”

Outside, Sera gasped at their mounts. “Andraste's arse!” she exclaimed, darting over to Solas' reindeer. “What's all these? That one's a horse, and that one's a pony, but--”

“That is a reindeer,” Arethin explained. “And mine is this hart.” she patted her hart's neck. She mounted the hart and held a hand out to Sera. “Come on,” she said. “Up you get.”

“Can't I just walk?” Sera asked, eyeing the hart with trepidation.

“No. Come on, he's very friendly.”

Sera glared at her, then took her hand and mounted up behind her, and they rode away from the villa. 

The next time Arethin and the others stopped to camp, Arethin was finally able to ask Sera more questions. When they were riding, Sera buried her face in Arethin's shoulder and maintained an iron grip on her waist, and would not have been receptive to questions. Now that she was on solid ground, however, she was fine.

“Are you familiar with the Dalish Coalition at all?” Arethin asked her. “I would have thought that one of the Alienages would have mentioned the Jennies...”

“All them elfy weirdos who've been at the Alienages?” Sera made a raspberry. “Ugh, no.”

“Why not?”

“'Cos they're weird and elfy,” she said. “All 'be mad about old stuff' this and 'magic shite' that—who cares?”

Arethin blinked at her. “You don't even care for the Alienages that are allied with us?”

“I thought your organization's aim was to help servants, and others who suffered injustice.” Solas pointed out. 

Sera glared at him, then she shrugged and shifted from foot to foot. “Dunno,” she mumbled. “I mean—everyone gets hurt the same, yeah? Humans get bollocksed up the same too. Don't see what the big difference is.”

“You could join the Inquisition specifically,” Cassandra offered. “If you do not wish to ally with the Coalition.”

“What, the stuff with the Chantry?” Sera asked. “I dunno—it's good and all, but it kind of went tits up with the mages and everything, yeah?” she shook her head. 

“Well, anyone who wants to help close that hole in the sky is just fine by me,” Arethin said. 

“Sounds good to me,” Sera said with a grin. “'s long as you don't go all weird about it.”

“Weird?”

“Ugh—I dunno, all magick-ey or elfy or whatever.”

Arethin and Solas exchanged a baffled look. 

"It is a magical problem,” Solas said. “You can hardly avoid that.”

“Sure I can! You point me to somethin' that needs arrows stuck in it, and I'll do it.”

“Well, we can do that,” Arethin said. “But what's wrong with...elves? _You're_ an elf.”

Sera snorted. “Yeah, whatever,” she rolled her eyes. 

Arethin narrowed her eyes. “Oh—Mythal's ass,” she muttered, struck with a sudden—and infuriating—realization.

“What?” Sera exclaimed, shocked. 

“You have the same problem that he does,” she pointed to Solas. “Ran afoul of a Clan who ran you off, did you?”

Sera blinked. “Well...I mean...not that, but...”

Arethin groaned and ran a hand over her face. “I am going to have _words_ with some people the next time I see them,” she muttered.

“I don't get it,” Sera said, blinking at the others. 

“Not all of her people have the best manners,” Varric said. “Don't take it personally.”

“Oh,” Sera still looked confused. “Alright.” 

“If I hear any more people spouting that--'we are the only true elves!' nonsense, I'm going to freeze their toes off,” Arethin growled. “I swear...” she waved a hand. “It's ridiculous! So many of them going on and on and bloody _on_ about it, as if they were the Queen of the Dales! This is absolutely ridiculous—first him, and then you...” she grumbled to herself. 

“I suspect this is a problem you might wish to take up with your people,” Solas said. 

Arethin took a deep breath. “You're right,” she said. “Anyway—you needn't worry about 'elfy' things, Sera.”

“I _wasn't_ ,” Sera grumbled. 

“Good, then continue on.” Arethin grumbled to herself and folded her arms. 

Sera peered at her. “You're a little funny, for an elfy-elf,” she said. “All the other ones I ever knew were all up their arses about Arlathan this and Tevinter that. You're...normal.”

Arethin shrugged. “We're all more normal than people like to think,” She said.

“I don't go runnin' around in the forest with no shoes on.”

Arethin looked pointedly at Sera's flimsy house-slippers. “And I suppose those are boots made for wilderness jaunts?”

“'S better than _him_ ,” she jabbed her thumb at Solas, who still wore footwraps instead of proper shoes. 

“Both of you are ridiculous,” Arethin decided. “We have a perfectly good armorer at Haven, I'm sure he can make you both a pair of boots.”

Both Sera and Solas grimaced. 

Sera was not very happy to be going so deep into the wilderness, and even less happy to see the eluvian.

“What's this thing?” Sera demanded, staring at the eluvian.

“It's an eluvian,” Arethin explained. “It's our way of getting back to Haven.”

“It's creepy.”

“How so?” 

Sera shook her head and didn't answer. 

“It is perfectly safe,” Arethin said. “Come—I can show you.” she went into the eluvian, then stuck her head and arm out. “Follow me,” she instructed.

Sera shuddered again, then grabbed Arethin's hand and jumped in, as if she were crossing a river. She stared around at the Crossroads with huge eyes.

“Are you alright?” Arethin asked.

“'s weird,” she said.

“Weird how?”

Noting Arethin's intense stare, Sera blinked at her. “It doesn't—I don't hurt or anythin',” she snapped, jutting her chin out. “'s just—all—you _sure_ there's no demons here?” she demanded.

“None at all.”

“Good.” Sera shuddered.

They came out of the Orzammar eluvian, and Sera looked around the room, wrinkling her nose. “Where are we?” she demanded.

“Orzammar.”

“We're in _Orzammar_?” Sera exclaimed.

Arethin nodded. “We can't stay long,” she said.

“Wasn't plannin' on it,' Sera looked around. “'s right fancy, isn't it?” she looked around the room.

“We _are_ in the palace,” Solas pointed out. 

“The palace?” Sera was startled anew. “Why do the dwarves have an elfy magic mirror in their palace?”

“It saves everyone a great deal of time,” Arethin said. “Come, this way.” 

When they came to the main hallway, they encountered the Prince-Consort coming the other way, carrying an armful of documents.

“Ambassador Lavellan,” the Prince-Consort smiled. “I see you have acquired a new friend.”

“This is Sera, your Majesty,” Arethin said. “She's with the Red Jennies.”

“Ah, the Jennies! Quite the amusing group,” he said.

“You know us?” Sera asked, surprised. 

The Prince-Consort nodded. “When I was still in Crow employ, I ran afoul of your friends quite often,” he said with a smile.

Sera looked at him with a strange grin, like she wasn't sure how honest he was being. “Yeah, well...Crows, right?” she said. 

“Indeed. Well, I shall not keep you,” the Prince-Consort said. 

As soon as they were out of eyeshot, Sera let out a breath as if she had been holding it a long time. 

“Andraste's ass, that's that prince people bang on about?” she said.

“Yes,” Arethin said. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Knew he was a Crow,” Sera said. “Didn't know he was still _good_ at it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dead freaky, he is,” Sera proclaimed. 

Arethin tilted her head to one side, and Sera sighed.

“Ugh, I mean—Crows are all creepy, creepier they are, better they are at it, see?” 

“I don't think I quite understand, but very well,” Arethin said.

Arethin and her group left the palace altogether, and when they did, Sera was fascinated. She stared around at Orzammar with huge eyes, taking in every one of the sights.

“You've never been here before?” Arethin asked.

She shook her head. “No—Heard about it, though,” she said. “Lots of people sayin' it was bloody nice, for bein' dwarfy or whatever.”

“I'm still not sold on that,” Varric muttered.

“Well, it's right shiny, so that's something, I s'pose,” Sera said. “Still weird, but never seen pictures like that before.”

From Orzammar, it took little time to ride back to Haven. Less so now, with their new mounts. Sera was much less impressed with Haven than she was with Orzammar. She shivered as she stood before the gate.

“This Haven, then?” she asked.

“That's right,” Arethin said.

“There a tavern anywhere close?” she asked.

“Up the hill, that way.”

Sera nodded and left them then. 

“Come,” Cassandra said. “We must meet with Leliana and the others.”

Arethin nodded, and they headed up to the Chantry.


	5. The Ravenous Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> master dennet kind of got upstaged by a loud-mouthed middle aged woman 
> 
> i wonder where alexius is?

“We had little luck in Val Royeaux,” Cassandra said.

“We heard,” Leliana said. “My agents sent word.”

Barris closed his eyes with a sigh. “Who is even to say what the Lord Seeker is planning now?' he ran a hand down his face. “He and Elthina have made no moves as of late.” 

“How do we deal with them?” Arethin asked.

“Right now, we can do little,” Leliana said. “I will try and find out all I can about what they are doing and what their plans are, but we must have patience.”

“I hope not too much. Time is one thing we don't have much of.”

“Of course not.”

“So what do we do next?” Cassandra asked. “Did Madame de Fer or Grand Enchanter Fiona send word--?”

“The Grand Enchanter sent word,” Josephine said. “As did Madame de Fer.”

“What did the Grand Enchanter say?” Arethin asked.

“She wishes to meet with you, first, in Denerim,” she said. “I mentioned that we are allied with the Coaltion and Orzammar as well, and I believe that helped negotiations.”

Arethin nodded. “It would,” she said. “Fiona was with the Hero of Ferelden when Surana first began making treaties.”

“I still believe we should contact the remaining Templars and Seekers,” Cassandra said. “Those who might be turned to our side.”

“Yes, that would be good,” Barris said. “I would love it if some of my former brothers and sisters could be made to see reason.”

“They're Templars—they won't see much reason at all.” Arethin couldn't help the biting edge to her voice.

“This is not the time for old conflicts to get in the way,” Cassandra said.

“It isn't an old conflict if I know for a fact that most of those Templars have the lyrium shakes,” Arethin snapped. “If you want to contact Templars, very well, but the Coalition still considers the majority of them hostile, so don't expect the warmest welcome.”

“But if they were with us, they wouldn't be hostile,” Barris cajoled. 

Arethin snorted. “Just because _you_ are not hostile doesn't mean the rest of them aren't—the Order is built on harassing and imprisoning mages. They wouldn't take kindly to me—existing, really.”

“That is not why the Order is there,” Cassandra growled.

“Tell that to all the Dalish who've lost children to them,” Arethin snapped. “And don't give me that garbage about Dalish abandoning children—Templars hunt down our Clans and take our mages, and have done for hundreds of years. We don't want them here.”

Cassandra sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“We can discuss this at another time,” Josephine said, tone pleasant and diplomatic as ever. “The fact of the matter is, right now, we can do nothing about the Templars while Grand Cleric Elthina yet controls them.”

“That is certainly true,” Leliana said. “And we need to do something about them.”

“Are they really a larger priority than the Breach?” Arethin asked. “I would think that that holds precedence over everything.”

“We should still try to find them,” Leliana insisted. “If we cannot, they will continue to antagonize the mages and this whole conflict will be drawn out.”

“And everyone in the middle will get hurt, I know, I know,” Arethin waved a hand. She paused for a long moment. “I will focus on the Breach,” she decided finally. “You find out more about Elthina—I will go to Denerim and speak with the Grand Enchanter. She is more likely to trust me than anyone else.” she remembered what else Josephine had said.   
“And what of Madame de Fer?”

“She sent us a missive as well,” Josephine said. “Inviting us to visit her and her mages at Duke Bastien's estate.”

“Bastien, Bastien...” Arethin hummed. “Who is he?”

“A minor nobleman in Orlais,” Josephine passed Arethin a map. “There are also some more areas in Ferelden that could use your aid,” Josephine pointed out, glancing down at her notes. “The rifts are only spreading. We suspect that closing the Breach will stop the rifts, but for now...”

Arethin sighed and massaged her temples. “For now, I need to close the small ones. I see. Well, find who is in the most danger, and I will attend to them as best I can.”

Josephine nodded. “I shall see. ”

The meeting broke up, and Arethin went in search of her newest ally.

Sera was lurking in the nearest tavern, having immediately made herself comfortable there.

“Oi!” she waved Arethin over when Arethin entered. Arethin sat down opposite her at her table. 

“Settling in alright?” Arethin asked. 

“Eh, it's nice,” Sera shrugged. “Bloody cold, though—stoppin' wars should earn more coin than this.”

“Should doesn't necessarily mean that it will.” Arethin sighed. “And we need to be close to the Breach.”

Sera shivered. “Hate that bloody thing,” she said.

“Well, you're not alone in that.”

“Did you mean it?” Sera said. “'bout making everything normal again?”

“Well, I'm going to fix the Breach,” Arethin said. 

“Well, sure,” Sera shrugged. “But are you going to make things _normal_?”

Arethin tilted her head to one side. “I don't think I know what you mean.”

Sera groaned and kicked her feet out. “I was in Val Royeaux when it got—when it was burning, you know,” she said. “Bloody Empress and the Divine and generals and mages and all that rubbish—all those big people pushin' each other about, and everyone else just gets stepped on.”

Arethin nodded. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I know it was bad there.”

“Ugh,” Sera shuddered. “Hate thinkin' about it. Bollocks. The Divine's supposed to be good, yeah? Templars're supposed to stop demons and that shite? But what even goes on when the Templars decided they want to be in charge instead of doin' what they're told?”

“Nothing good,” Arethin said. “Though, where Templars are concerned, they never did anyone a much good,” her expression grew dark.

“They stop demons, yeah?” Sera said, leaning her chin on her hand.

“They _cause_ demons,” Arethin argued. “All that Chantry talk about 'magic is meant to serve man' this and 'spirits are all demons' that—it causes problems with demons.” 

“What? No it doesn't,” Sera went a few shades paler, and bit her lip, looking very worried all of a sudden.

“The Fade reflects what people in the physical world think,” Arethin said. “Imagine it—well, like this. If you have had an unpleasant day, the Fade will be able to tell, and reflect that back at you.”

“Ugh,” Sera groaned again and leaned back in her chair. “Whatever. Magic shite—I don't want to deal with it.”

“You might have to,” Arethin said. “What else is the Breach?”

“Well, I want the mages and Templars to stop all their fighting,” Sera proclaimed. “Sit them down, they stop warring, things get back to normal.”

“Right up until the Templars do it again.”

“Why would they do it again?” Sera demanded, narrowing her eyes.

Arethin shrugged. “Because they cannot abide being told what to do. That was why this whole mess even began—as far as I can tell, the Lord Seeker got fed up with the Divine telling him what to do, so he started a war over it.”

“Oh,” Sera blinked. “What a tit.”

Arethin was startled into a laugh. “By all accounts, that is quite true.” she said. 

“Well, better than I'm here now,” she said. “Jennies'll sort that arsehole out right quick, we get the chance.”

“Well, there's nothing wrong with him that a little arrows couldn't fix,” Arethin said with a smile.

Sera laughed. “Not so bad, for bein' all elfy,” she said.

“Sera...”

Sera groaned. “Look, all I ever hear from other elves is piss and rot about how _great_ things used to be, and how _grand_ we were, blah, blah, blah,” she said. “Who cares? I don't want to run around in the woods with no shoes. Bein' all elfy is backwards and boring—sure doesn't seem like living to me.”

“Well, personally, I can't stand the no-shoes bit,” Arethin said. She shuddered. “I had to deal with every hunter who stepped on a bee or a thorn because she wouldn't just put on a pair of boots.”

“See? Stupid.”

“Well, yes, but there's lots of stupid things about everyone's culture,” Arethin said. “I don't see that it makes a difference if it's elves or humans.”

“Well—I mean--” Sera sighed. “Look, I get raised by some human, I get shite for it—I don't see what's the bloody difference. Humans are bastards, elves are bastards, they're all bastards, elves just think I need to be sad and mopey because of some stories they barely remember, and then they get pissed when I'm not.”

“Well, many of the Clans I know are angry a great deal of the time,” Arethin said. “Just for different reasons.”

“Like what?” Sera rolled her eyes.

“Like getting their children taken by Templars,” Arethin said, her tone dark. “Or getting attacked because some nearby village thought they poisoned the well. Or getting raided for their halla. We're trying to make things better, but...” she sighed and looked away. “We just have a lot to be angry about.”

“Oh.” Sera said. “Well—no need to act so snobby about it. If it was kids'n'grannies getting hurt or whatever, drop a line to the Jennies, we'd fix them up proper, but Dalish always tell the likes of me to piss off whenever I come close.”

Arethin sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I know...”

Sera snickered. 'Yeah, and you said you were gonna lay into some people about it.” she sobered again quickly. “I dunno, though...”

“Sera, it's...there's a lengthy history of bad relations between the Dalish and others.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen to me, all of that bad blood—all of that 'flat-ear' nonsense—well, we have more stories of city elves luring Clans to danger than I can count.”

“Sure it's not about how you lot are real elves and we're all not or whatever?” Sera said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, there's definitely that,” Arethin pursed her lips. “Not with my Clan, so much, and the Coalition is comprised of both Alienages and Clans, but—well, I had a Keeper call me a 'flat-ear' once.” she gestured to her face. “And with all of this!”

Sera was surprised into a laugh. “Pff, that's bloody stupid, you already did the face painting shite!”

“Exactly. People like that—well. They're not very pleasant to anyone. It seems like perhaps my people have a few more of those than we should, but...” she shrugged. “Right now, though, I wouldn't worry about it—everyone's shaken with the hole in the sky to be worried about blood this and that.”

“Huh.” Sera raised her eyebrows. “I still think all that elfy shite is stupid. Can't be real. Not like Andraste and all that.”

“Oh, Sera, don't,” Arethin grimaced. “I already get enough of a headache when Cassandra starts going on about _providence_.”

“Well, sure, but you are, aren't you? From Andraste?” Sera leaned forward, her eyes flashing for a moment with a painful hope.

“I could not tell you,” Arethin said. “I remember nothing before coming out of the Breach. I think if Andraste wanted me to be her herald, she would have told me.”

Sera looked troubled. “S'pose...but how'd you get the thing on your hand if it wasn't for Her?”

“I couldn't say.”

“Oh,” Sera giggled. “Well—if I say it's Andraste, you can't say it isn't, right?”

“I suppose technically I can't. But I can say I think that's ridiculous.”

“Andraste's not ridiculous!”

“She is if she cannot manage this herself. I hardly want to be running around and closing rifts all day.”

“Maybe she's smart, because she got you to do it instead of her.”

Arethin considered that. “A fair point,” she conceded. “But I despise hearing about it. I only want to close the Breach and not be concerned with who sent me to do it. As far as I am concerned, I sent me..”

Sera nodded. “Stick arrows in it, make it go away. Makes sense,” she agreed grudgingly. 

It was several days before Josephine had an idea of the area that needed the most assistance. 

“The Storm Coast is the area currently hit the hardest by rifts,” Josephine said. “It is also on the way to Denerim.”

Arethin nodded. “Then I shall go there,” she said. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“A mercenary company called the Chargers has been there for the past several weeks,” Leliana said. “They contacted us--”

“They contacted Haven, actually,” Josephine said. “There was some confusion over whether they should be contacting the Inquisition or you personally, so they compromised.”

“And what did they say?”

“They wish to join the effort to close the Breach,” Josephine explained. “They have been attempting to clear the Coast of demons, but haven't been having much success.”

“Well, there is a reason for that,” Arethin said with a sigh. “Why are they interested?”

“Apparently, they had been doing a job there when the Breach happened, and have been attempting to help the civilians in the area evacuate. For free.”

“For free?” Arethin raised her eyebrows. “Interesting.”

“Their leader is Ben-hassrath,” Leliana said. “But there is a Dalish member of the company. We are not sure what the relationship is between them, but they might be worth looking into for this reason alone.”

“Very true,” Arethin said. “If he is truly Ben-hassrath, the Dalish person might be keeping an eye on him. I'll see what's going on.”

“Very wise,” Leliana seemed troubled for some reason, but did not say anything further on the matter.

Clan Quansyroth made a second appearance, mostly because the halla-keeper was apparently appalled by the state of their stables. This time, halla-keeper Ardeque decided to stay and help, proclaiming that she couldn't let Arethin and her people be without decent mounts.

After some contention, Ardeque got Sera onto a drakolisk, which Sera oddly adored. 

“Why do you like this beast so much when you dislike all the others?” Arethin asked, looking at the drakolisk with some trepedation. 

Sera patted the beast's head. “Just 'cos no one else likes him doesn't mean I don't,” she said. “She said these ones like _smart_ riders,” she grinned.

“If she said it, it must be true,” Arethin informed her. 

“Ha! Baldy didn't get one of these, and he always thinks he's smarter than everyone.”

“Perhaps you are better at riding,” Arethin pointed out. “Everyone has some things they can do better than others.”

“Like arrows!” Sera grinned and stroked the neck of the drakolisk. 

“And, apparently, like riding this monster,” Arethin raised her eyebrows at the beast. “How you can be so concerned about magic, and not about this thing, I haven't the foggiest.”

“Aw, he's nice,” Sera protested. “Right ugly, but he's nice.”

“I suppose some 'elfy' things are worth it, then?”

Sera looked up at her, scowling. “I dunno...” she said. “He is pretty good, though. I thought she was gonna give me one of those smelly halla.”

“Of course not,” Arethin said. “She'd never give a halla to someone who thought they smelled. I hope you didn't tell her that.”

Sera scrunched up her nose. “I did, and she yanked on my ear,” she rubbed her right ear, scowling at the memory. “But then she said she had something else anyway.”

“I see. Well, I am pleased that you enjoy her choice, anyhow.”

Sera peered at her. “Don't have much fun, do you?” she said. 

Arethin blinked at her. 

“Only heard you laugh a couple times. Why's that, hey?” 

For a long moment, Arethin was quiet, unsure how to answer that. “Is there a great deal to laugh about?”

“All the time,” Sera went back to petting the drakolisk's neck. “Scarier things are, the more there is, y'see?” she looked Arethin up and down, her gaze more contemplative than normal. “Whatever—bet you're no fun, like Baldy and Cassandra.”

Arethin blinked again. “Suppose as you wish,” she said. “You should get some practice on that beast before you come out with us,” she advised, nodding at the drakolisk. 

There were no eluvians that opened near the Storm Coast, at least none that could be unlocked. They had a suspicion that there was one in the ruins somewhere, but with the latest troubles, hadn't been able to send any archaeology teams out to try and find it. As such, Arethin, Cassandra, Varric, Solas and Sera traveled the long way, on horseback. 

Sera and Solas didn't get along at all, and both of them became absolutely insufferable after about several days of close proximity to each other. They bickered about everything, from Sera's upbringing to Solas' magic, to both of their attitudes. Their conversations frequently devolved into insults, some of which were surprisingly vulgar on Solas' part. It was when Sera dumped a nest of lizards into Solas' bedroll that Arethin called a halt to the entire business and decided that when they were all traveling together, they had to be as far apart as possible. 

“You'd think you were both children,” Arethin scolded them. “Honestly—I've known five year olds with more decorum.” 

Both of them were completely unrepentant. Arethin had the sneaking suspicion that on some level they enjoyed riling each other up, and merely deigned to keep them separate.

“Trust me, this is nothing,” Varric said. “Just about everyone Hawke and I ran with in Kirkwall got into the most ridiculous fights with each other.”

“Well, they needn't do it,” Arethin said. 

“It's not my fault Baldy is such a prick,” Sera grumbled. 

“Evidently, my very existence is offensive.” Solas said. 

“Stop it, you two,” Arethin warned. “You're worse than brother and sister, you are. If you're not careful I'll start introducing you like you _are_ related.”

Both Sera and Solas made similar expressions of disgust.

"We don't look anythin' alike," Sera said. "No one'd believe it."

"Sure they would. I'd say, 'this is Sera, she's Solas' little sister,' or 'this is Solas, he's Sera's older brother,' and they'd look at the two of you and your gray eyes and the way you _bicker_ \--"

Sera made an exaggerated gagging sound, revolted, and Solas said nothing, face carefully blank. After that, they kept the bickering to a minimum, at least within earshot of Arethin.

Other than that, the trip went smoothly, if made rather louder with Sera's additional presence. The first time they had traveled together, Sera had been much quieter, unsettled by her new companions and new situation. Now, it seemed she was quite confident to let her whole personality shine through.

“Ugh, can't you use words that _mean_ things?” Sera demanded at one point, hearing Solas and Arethin chat to each other in Dalish.

"They do mean things, Sera,” Arethin said. “That's the point of a language.”

“Yeah, but what's the point if only you and Baldy know it?” Sera demanded. 

“Perhaps we wish to speak in a tongue that is more familiar to us,” Solas said, with a haughty tone to his voice that just made Sera's hackles rise. 

Sera glared at them both, her nose scrunched up. “All the elfy elves I know used it to talk shite about people in front of them,” she said. 

“We were talking about the _weather_ ,” Arethin rolled her eyes, exasperated. “I can teach you if it bothers you that much.”

“I know some of it!” Sera snapped. “I'm not stupid, I can figure it out for myself!”

“No one said you were stupid,” Arethin rubbed her forehead. 

“Good.” Sera folded her arms. “Don't want to learn anyway,” she grumbled. “Too bloody elfy.”

“You know, if you knew it, _you_ could use it to talk about people in front of them without them knowing,” Arethin pointed out.

Sera perked up. “I s'pose,” she grumbled, grudging. 

“What is so offensive about the Dalish language?” Solas asked. 

“Don't you already have problems with the Dalish, Chuckles?” Varric asked. 

“With their treatment of non-Dalish, yes, and their interpretation of history, not with the language.”

“I keep telling you, you need to come to a Coalition meeting,” Arethin said, switching back to Dalish. “You and the Keepers can argue to your heart's content. You'll have a lovely time.”

“What?” Sera demanded. 

“If you learn Dalish, then you'll know what I said.”

Sera huffed and folded her arms. “Bloody elfy gits...” she grumbled. 

“I doubt they would be interested in what I had to say,” Solas said, also turning back to Dalish. “Considering my previous experience.”

“Oh, don't worry,” Arethin assured him. “I told you...”

“Friggin' stop it!” Sera exclaimed. 

“Fine,” Arethin said. “We'll just start talking about magic in common, and you'll have to listen to it. Solas, what spirit did you speak to last?”

“Ugh!” Sera dragged her hands down her face. “You're the _worst_!”

“Ah, but now you must either learn Dalish or simply adjust to hearing about magic,” Arethin said, and couldn't help a grin. “Either way, it is a victory for me.”

“Are you this mean to your Clan?” Varric asked.

“Oh no. I'm much worse.”

“What do you mean?” Varric half-laughed. 

“I am the First, that means I get to be the terror of the camp. The Keeper gets to be the font of wisdom. I am the one who actually makes people _do_ things.”

“That sounds familiar,” Cassandra murmured.

“See, that's the other reason bein' elfy is stupid,” Sera said. “You have someone's mum goin' around tellin' everybody what to do!”

“I'm not anyone's mother,” Arethin said quickly, her stomach dropping into her toes. “I—I just get people to do things, that's all.”

Both Cassandra and Solas looked at her curiously.

“You sure _act_ like someone's mum,” Sera grumbled, ignoring the stumble. “The kind that hits people with spoons. I bet you do that.”

“Only if everyone is taking too long to get ready.”

The Storm Coast lived up to its name by being rainy, miserable, and damp. Immediately Solas and Arethin could feel that the Veil was thinner here, and it was extremely troubling. Even Sera could feel it, vertigo making her trip more than once. 

Scout Harding met them at the the forward camp. The camp was tiny, with perhaps two tents and five scouts, and was perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean.

Sera was enamored.

“Wow,” she breathed. 'It just...keeps goin'.”

“You know, it goes all the way down to the Amaranthine Ocean,” Varric said, pointing to the east. 

“Have you never seen the ocean before?” Cassandra asked Sera.

“Not like this,” Sera said. 

Harding lead them to the first rift, where the thin Veil became even more troubling. 

It was huge, as large as any rift near haven, pouring out rage demons and despair demons alike. It smelled like a slaughterhouse and charred meat, and it took almost thirty minutes to close it. By that time, everyone was in poor shape. 

Sera had twisted her ankle, Varric had a touch of frostbite from a stray shot from a Despair demon, Cassandra was exhausted and cut, Solas' coat had caught fire and only Harding wasn't injured. Arethin's whole arm ached with the effort of closing the rift.

“I hate this bloody place,” Sera complained.

“You're definitely not alone there,” Varric said, wincing as he looked at his frostbitten fingers. “Dammit—does anyone have any elfroot?”

“Here,” Solas (who had removed his jacket, which was now unsalvagable) took his hand and the warm glow of healing magic permeated the air. 

“Thanks.” Varic shook his hand out, flexing the fingers. “That's a lot better.”

Sera hissed as she examined her ankle. “Dammit,” she muttered. “Turned it on a rock—it's too bloody slippery around here!”

“I can help with that as well,” Solas said. 

Sera glared at him for a long moment, then let out a sigh. “Fine,” she gritted, and he applied a healing spell to her ankle.

“I am afraid I cannot help with anything much larger than a turned ankle,” Solas said. “We need to take more care.”

“You helped Lavellan with the mark,” Cassandra pointed out.

“That was an ailment of magical origin, something I am more familiar with. Physical problems are somewhat beyond my scope at the moment.” he scowled, looking Sera's ankle over one last time and then leaving it. 

Arethin sighed. “I can do first aid and herbalism,” she said, looking away from them. “Battlefield medicine, but that doesn't hold up as well as healing magic.”

“Magic's weird, but—I mean, healing's all well and good,” Sera agreed. “Good in a fight, anyhow.”

“Come,” Arethin said. “We should hurry.”

“We can meet with the forward scouts first, then find the Chargers.” Harding piped up, and lead them on. 

There was a rift near the shore, where a group of people battled a horde of demons. The company hurried over, Arethin rushing to try and close the rift. 

This rift was large as well, but whatever strange smell it might have had was overwhelmed by the smell of the ocean. After some toil, she managed to close it, and everyone took a breath.

“You're the person who can close the rifts, I'm guessing,” an enormous Qunari man came over to her, swinging an axe over his shoulders. He had a huge set of horns that would likely have trouble fitting through doorways and sported tattoos and an eyepatch.

“You're the Iron Bull, I assume?” Arethin asked.

“Yeah,” the man chuckled. “The horns kind of give it away, don't they?”

“A bit.” Arethin straightened. “I'm Arethin Nadur Lavellan, and I'm here about the rift problem.”

Bull sighed. “We've been trying to help out the coast for weeks,” he explained. “Really put a dent in our business, but we didn't want to let the people around here just get eaten by demons.”

Arethin nodded. “And you want to help with the Breach also?”

Bull nodded. “Figure the sooner we can clear all this demon crap up, the sooner we can get back to normal.”

“I also know you're Ben-hassrath,” Arethin said. “So I presume that the Qun is not very fond of the Breach either.”

He gave her a long, measuring look. “That's right,” he said. “No, they're not really happy about it. If I hadn't contacted your Inquisition, I probably would have gotten Par Vollen giving me orders to do that anyway.”

“I'm not with the Inquisition, strictly speaking,” Arethin said. 

A blonde woman with green Dalish tattoos came up to them. 

“Ander'an atish'an,” Arethin said, locking eyes with her and inclining her head, switching to Dalish to speak to her. “I also received word from you, friend.”

The Dalish woman smiled and replied in the same language. “Glad to hear it. Will the Coalition be working with the Inquisition?”

“Keeper Lanaya and prince-Consort Arainai have already visited Haven, and helped with resources,” Arethin said, switching to Common. She figured that if Bull was to be an ally, she should keep him in the loop, at least mostly. 

“Good,” the woman said, switching to Common as well. “Wait—the _Prince-Consort_?” she exclaimed. “Keeper _Lanaya_?”

“They figured it was important enough.”

“Well, it definitely is, but Creators...”

“Something you want to tell me, Dalish?” Bull asked, raising his single eyebrow. 

“Oh—well, I called her, too,” the woman said.

“I refuse to call you just 'Dalish,'” Arethin informed her in their shared language. “Tell him that's you like calling him 'Qunari.'”

Dalish laughed. “Oh, don't worry about it,” she said. “My name is Eilhana Eirethelu, but Chief just likes giving people nicknames. It's alright.” she turned back to iron Bull. “Well, I heard the person who could close the rifts was Dalish, so I let her know.”

“And what exactly does both of you being Dalish have to do with it?” Bull now looked somewhat amused. 

“Well, Chief, technically I'm a Dalish spy,” Eilhana said with a grin. “But, end of the world and everything, I figured I might as well get my people involved.”

“A spy, huh?”

“Yes! Can't have you Ben-hassrath running around unsupervised, can we?” 

Bull laughed. “I suppose not,” he said. 

Arethin looked at both of them, baffled. “So, you want to help close the Breach?” she said.

They both nodded, then glanced at each other.

“Should we join the Inquisition, or the Coalition?” Dalish asked.

“I'd say the Inquisition,” Bull said. “But it's not really a good sign that I'm not even sure what organization is running the show.”

“Technically, everything must go by my whim,” Arethin said. “Because I'm the only one who can close the Breach. The only problem is, I don't really...have money. I'd say join the Inquisition, they can pay you.”

“I'm sure the Coalition would pay too,” Dalish said. 

“But we also have a great many mages, and I'm not sure about how a Qunari feels about that,” Arethin said, eyes darting to Bull.

“Eh, I mostly don't like demons,” Bull said. “And you probably don't have too many mages, with the Dalish and everything, right?” 

“Actually, that was a lie,” Dalish shrugged. “Sorry. I lied to you about that. Keeper told me to go find the Ben-hassrath, keep an eye on him. Doesn't make a difference how many Templars or arvaraads we do or don't have.” 

“Hm,” Bull rumbled, raising his eyebrow in surprise. “You're pretty good at this.”

“I try,” Dalish said with a grin.

Again, Arethin was baffled. “...right, well, I need to head to Denerim,” she said. “If the Coast is set for now, you may either come with us, continue to hold the coast, or go back to Haven.”

“What's in Denerim?” Bull asked, folding his arms.

“I cannot close the Breach by myself,” Arethin explained. “I need help, so I need to find the rebel mages. Grand Enchanter Fiona is in Denerim with her group right now, so we need to go there.” 

“Let me talk to my crew and see what they think,” Bull said. Arethin nodded, and Bull and Dalish returned to the rest of the Chargers. Arethin's companions returned to her side.

Sera and Solas were bickering again, now over how Sera had turned her ankle a second time.

“Either find shoes with better traction or wear none at all,” Solas was telling her.

“Well bloody well heal better!” she snapped at him. “It wouldn't'a happened if your magic bollocks fixed it properly the first time!”

“And if you properly prepared for the weather, it would not have happened at all.”

“Enough,” Arethin said. “The Chargers are going to join the Inquisition, most likely.”

“What do you think of the Ben-hassrath?” Cassandra asked, glancing over her shoulder at Iron Bull as he spoke to his crew. He towered over the rest of the Chargers, absolutely enormous even for a Qunari. 

“He's...strange,” Arethin said. “But our Dalish contact seemed to think he was trustworthy enough. I think he's safe for now. Just keep an eye on him.”

“That might be more wise than refusing to let him join,” Solas said.

“Yeah, that way we know who the spy is,” Varric said. “Doesn't give the Qunari another chance to send someone we don't know.”

“True,” Cassandra agreed, but her expression was troubled. 

“We headed to Denerim then?” Sera asked.

“I just need to know if the Chargers are coming us with or going back to Haven,” Arethin said. 

Bull came back over, accompanied by a short, stocky man with the angular face common to Tevinters. 

“Right, Lavellan, I'll come with you, but the Chargers will go back to Haven,” Iron Bull explained. “Krem, my second, will take them.”

Krem nodded. 

“Very well,” Arethin said. “Speak with Scout Harding, she can help with supplies and maps if you need them.”

They were soon on their way. Bull had no mount, and was far too big to ride on any of theirs, but he actually kept up with them on foot. 

Again, they had accidentally picked up a companion who bickered with Solas. However, this time it was less about cultural differences and more about something Arethin could sympathize with, which was how unpleasant the Qun was.

“A Ben-hassrath spies upon their own people,” Solas said at one point, his distaste quite clear.

Bull shrugged. “Is that so different from Orlais, or Ferelden? They have all kinds of people policing them.”

“That doesn't make 'em much better!” Sera piped up.

Solas nodded once, but gave no verbal acknowledgment that Sera had spoken. She still smirked at him, but he ignored her. “In any case, they simply police what people say and do, not what they think.”

“What you think _is_ what you say and do,” Iron bull said. 

“No, they are not even close,” Solas said, his eyes narrowed. “Even the lowliest peasant might find freedom in their thoughts. You take even that.” 

“Last I checked, our mages didn't burn down Par Vollen,” Bull snapped, and both Arethin and Solas stiffened. 

“They will eventually,” Arethin told him darkly. 

“And they are only not now because you cage them,” Solas hissed. “If what you do to your non-mage people is a crime, what is done to mages is too terrible for words.”

“Look, I don't like it either,” Bull said. “But all I know is that in the south, they had a huge war between mages and the Chantry, and in Par Vollen, we haven't had anything like that.”

“That you know of,” Solas said. “It is quite possible the Qunari altered their own history.”

“Change our history to make mages seem _less_ dangerous? Yeah, probably not. That's not really how the propagandaists operate.”

“I find it quite difficult to believe that a society with mages would have no historical events significantly impacted by those mages,” Solas said. “And your Qun is set on cultivating a specific mindset. When one controls history, one controls how people act in the present.”

“Do you know what else controls people?” Bull said. “Demons.”

“And if you taught people that spirits were not to be feared, and your society allowed individuals their own will, it would not be a problem,” Solas snapped. 

“Enough,” Cassandra said at length. “I will hear no more of this bickering.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Varric muttered. “Just when it was getting interesting...”

Despite that Bull didn't have a very high opinion of mages, he seemed to have no problem with Solas or Arethin's magic, not the way Sera did. Bull actually took most things in stride, from wolves to demons. He and Sera got on quite well, and he flirted outrageously with Cassandra, who seemed flustered but not entirely displeased by the attention.

He certainly wasn't what Arethin had pictured when she thought of Ben-hassrath.

Sera was quite pleased when they saw Denerim. 

“There it is!” she bounced up and down in her saddle when they saw the silhouette of the city on the horizon. “Come on, hurry up!”

“Have you been here before?” Cassandra asked. 

Sera nodded. “Been all sorts of places!” she said. “I'm just glad it's not bloody farms and whatever anymore.”

“I've been here too,” Arethin said. “Just once, though.”

“Don't most Dalish avoid cities, as a rule?” Solas asked. “Apart from Orzammar, of course.”

“Mostly, but King Alistair is a friend,” Arethin explained. “Whole Clans will not pass through, but Bann Shianni lives here, so everyone knows it's safe for one or two to come.”

“Yeah,” Sera rolled her eyes. “Bann Shianni's pretty and all, but that cousin of hers is right stuck up.”

“Do you mean Ambassador Tabris?” Arethin asked.

“I dunno,” Sera shrugged. “Maybe? Some crazy lady who got locked up but the Wardens let her out—at least I think that's what happened.”

“That's Ambassador Tabris,” Arethin nodded. “She's Denerim's representative in the Coalition.”

“Ugh, _Alienages_ ,” Sera rolled her eyes.

“You don't like the Dalish, _or_ Alienages?” Varric asked. “I thought the whole point of Red Jennies was to help out 'little people,' you know, like ones who live in Alienages.”

Sera blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Dalish are all stuck up and weird and demoney, and Alienages are all mopey and no fun. Friends'll help them but still...” Sera said with a shrug. “I mean, they throw a great party and all, but they're boring 'till you get them all drunk.” 

“I've heard that,” Bull said. “The party bit, anyway.”

Sera laughed. “Yeah—I mean, they're stupid most of the time—who'd want to live all penned in like that? But throw a wedding or some shite and they're better than anyone else! I knew this girl--”

“Enough,” Cassandra closed her eyes. “I don't think I particularly want to hear this.'

“But I hardly said anythin'!”

“It is enough, as far as you are concerned.”

Sera huffed and folded her arms.

“Have you ever been to an Alienage?” Arethin asked Solas.

“Not physically. I have explored the dreams of Alienages at a distance, however.” Solas seemed troubled, his shoulders tense as he looked around at the city.

Arethin realized something. “Are all the people going to be a problem?” 

“Not unless someone tries summoning and binding a spirit.”

“Well, people around here don't do much of that,” Arethin said.

“I should hope not. That would hurt the spirit.” his body language still looked tense as they came to the city gates, but his expression was a mask of calm. 

Their group drew some stares, but most people seemed preoccupied with their own problems. 

Denerim showed a great deal of relatively recent construction, a result of the attack by the Archdemon. It was far humbler than Orzammar, and showed none of the former glory of Val Royeaux. Frankly, it smelled worse than either. Even so, many more people lingered together here than they did in Val Royeaux, as well, elves, humans, dwarves and even some Vashothari all among the crowds. The races were not as intermingled as they were in Orzammar, but it was still interesting to see. 

“Come on, palace is up this way,” Sera pointed and hurried ahead of the group, till Arethin caught up with her. 

“Have you been to the palace before, too?” Arethin asked.

“Yeah, once or twice,” Sera shrugged. “It's not that special, but it's always stocked. Been there doing Jenny stuff a few times.”

“And what do the Jennies think of the king and queen?”

“Eh, they're nobles,” Sera rolled her eyes. “So they're not like _real_ people, but they're not so bad.” 

“That's...encouraging, I suppose,” Arethin said.

The palace was more modest than most of the buildings in Val Royeaux, with many parts of its structure that were clearly new. It was certainly more modest than Queen Aeducan's palace, with far fewer statues and no mosaics decorating the walls.

Arethin came to the gates, and her company was regarded suspiciously by the guards. When Cassandra stepped forward, there was a change in tone towards the aggressive. 

“I was invited by King Alistair, Queen Anora and Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Arethin said, urging her hart forward. “I am Arethin Nadur Lavellan, of the Dalish Coalition, and I can close the Breach.”

After some more hemming and hawwing, they were finally let in. They left their mounts behind (there was some considerable surprise at Sera's drakolisk) and proceeded on foot.

“They're a bit jumpy,” Varric said, glancing over his shoulder at the guards.

“The King and Queen have had—problems between themselves and the Seekers,” Cassandra said, her gaze downcast. “Their alliance with the Wardens caused...friction.”

Arethin nodded. “I know the story.”

“'S'that still a problem?” Sera wanted to know.

“Oh, it would be a pretty big problem,” Varric said with a grimace. “The Chantry kind of stepped all over Anora and Alistair more than once—Meredith shoved Chantry writs in her face in person.”

Cassandra sighed. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, she did.”

Their audience with Queen Anora and King Alistair took place not in a throne room, but in a large, open hall. There was a huge fireplace on one side, and the heads of various animals and other assorted beasts adorned the walls. Both of them were in full armor, and King Alistair had dark shadows under his eyes, his skin waxy and pale. Grand Enchanter Fiona accompanied them, wearing a woolen mage's robe and a long traveler's coat.

“Seeker,” Fiona said, raising her eyebrows at Cassandra in a wary expression. “I see you escaped Val Royeaux with little injury.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “I did.” 

“So, we are to understand that you are the one who can close the Breach?” Queen Anora asked, her brows drawn together skeptically. The Queen was a sharp-boned woman, her blonde hair drawn severely away from her face. Her leather armor was intricately worked and stitched, and she bore a sword on her back. 

Arethin nodded and held up her hand, showing them the mark. “I can heal the rifts, and I almost closed the Breach, but I did not have enough magical power to do it properly.”

“And you need the help of the mages,” the Grand Enchanter said, glancing at King Alistair.

“That's correct.”

“How does it work, precisely?”

“Well...” Arethin sighed and leaned back. “We are not entirely sure,” she exchanged a look with Solas. “The mark has a direct effect on the Veil. It isn't my magic, it's foreign, almost like some kind of artifact was welded to my hand. It lets me manipulate the Veil directly, without damaging it.”

“A bit like Templar abilities, then?” Alistair asked. 

“Not precisely,” Solas took this moment to jump in. “Templar and Seeker abilities reinforce the reality around magic. The mark interacts with the Veil specifically. The closest analogue would be blood magic used to damage the Veil, except blood magic used in that fashion is far more wasteful and far more likely to result in an undesired outcome.”

“And you can use the power of other mages to help bolster the affect,” the Grand Enchanter said, her brow furrowed.

Arethin nodded. “I've used assistance to close a larger rift before. The problem is that Breach is so large I would need a great deal more help.”

“Can the Coalition help at all?” the Grand Enchanter asked. “I do not want to get my people involved in something dangerous—many of us are battle mages, but that is by no means all of us.”

“The Coalition is sending mages,” Arethin said. “But we aren't sure that our mages alone will be enough.”

The Grand Enchanter still seemed dubious, and she and King Alistair exchanged worried looks. The Queen's lips were pressed together in a disbelieving frown.

“Grand Enchanter, where this is concerned, we need the help of everyone,” Arethin said. 

“It really is that bad, then,” King Alistair said. 

“Did you think it was anything less?”

King Alistair ran a hand through his sandy hair. “I'd hoped that it was.” he and the Queen looked at each other. “But if the Coalition and Queen Aeducan have already pledged their support...”

“They have,” Arethin said. “Prince-Consort Arainai and Keeper Lanaya both came to Haven and lent their aid.”

King Alistair sighed heavily.

“If we don't close it, we will all die.” Arethin said, her tone flat. “The Veil will become too damaged, and more demons will appear without people being able to get rid of them.”

“Doing this would go a great way towards improving the reputation of the rebel mages,” Cassandra pointed out, and the Grand Enchanter bristled. 

“We would not need to do that if your Chantry did now sow fear of magic into everyone,” she snapped. 

“And this would help reverse that conception,” Cassandra insisted.

“Enough,” the King said, cutting off the Grand Enchanter. “There is...another problem we were concerned about. It's why we hadn't come to you earlier.” 

“What is it?” Arethin asked. 

“Are you in contact with any Wardens?”

Arethin shook her head.

“Damn,” the King, the Queen, and the Grand Enchanter all looked even more nervous than before.

“Why?”

“I've been hearing the Calling,” King Alistair said. 

Arethin thought for a moment. “Oh,” she said at length. “That is...ill tidings. I am sorry.”

“Yes, but—I'm not sure if it's right,” he grimaced. 

“What do you mean?”

"I mean, it feels...wrong. Sick.” he tapped the side of his head. “Something's...I don't know what the Calling is supposed to be like, but it's not that. Or at least...” he sighed. “I don't want to go and head off to the Deep Roads until I know for sure. And I can't ask anyone because I haven't been able to contact anyone at all.”

Arethin frowned. “No one?”

“We have not heard from Warden-Commander Surana or her Wardens in some time,” Queen Anora said. “And we have completely lost contact with Weisshaupt and Warden-Commander Clarel in Orlais.”

“Josephine may know something of this,” Cassandra murmured to Arethin, who nodded.

A thought came to Arethin. “Do you know of--” she paused. “Keeper Merrill, of the Coalition, described a darkspawn beast kept prisoner in the Vimmark mountains,” she said. “Do you know of it?”

King Alistair shook his head, exchanging a look with Grand Enchanter Fiona.

“I know of rumors of something terrible in the Vimmarks,” the Grand Enchanter said. “But only rumors, nothing more.”

“Is it possible a powerful darkspawn could imitate the Calling, the way the Archdemon affected darkspawn?” Arethin asked.

“It's possible, in theory,”

“But not everyone from Orlais to Denerim should be hearing it,” King Alistair said. “That would make it more powerful than an Archdemon—and intelligent.” he shuddered. 

“An intelligent, powerful darkspawn,” Arethin clicked her tongue. “Not a series of words I want going together.”

“Exactly.”

Arethin sighed. “Well—Grand Enchanter, will you lend us your mages? The business with the Breach must be taken care of as soon as possible, regardless of any other problems.”

“If the Coalition protects Haven and the area around the Breach, then yes, we will.” she glared at Cassandra. “We will be there as an independent group. We will _not_ come on behalf of the Chantry _or_ the Coalition.” 

“The Coalition, the Inquistion and Orzammar have all joined forces to protect the Breach site,” Arethin said. “I am imposing nothing. I simply need your help to stop the Veil from destroying itself.”

The Grand Enchanter sighed, then inclined her head. “Then we will bring our aid to you.”

Arethin turned to King Alistair. “And what of Ferelden?” She asked. “You are a longstanding ally to the Coalition. Will you help contain and protect the Breach?”

“We are the ally to the Coalition,” Anora agreed. “And Ambassador Tabris would be sorely disappointed if we refused help to you. As with the rebel mages, we will not come on behalf of anyone but ourselves.”

Arethin inclined her head. “I could expect nothing less. Mas serannas, your Majesties, Grand Enchanter, you have my very sincere thanks.”

Despite gaining the alliance of the rebel mages, the King's words troubled them greatly, and Arethin's companions immediately started to discuss it when they left the palace.

“Missing Wardens?” Varric grimaced. “That's bad.”

“What do you know about it?” Arethin asked.

“That trip to the Vimmarks Merrill talks about? I was there, too.”

“And what did you see?”

“A huge darkspawn...thing,” he said with a shudder. “I'm not really sure if that relates to the Wardens.”

“Darkspawn and Wardens usually go together,” Iron Bull pointed out.

Varric sighed. “Yeah...and it...did something to the Wardens around it.”

The others looked at him, now much more interested.

“Did something?” Cassandra said. “Did what?”

“Look, I don't know, exactly,” Varric said. “The Wardens around it were--” he ran a hand over his hair. “Look, I don't know,” he repeated. “If you want to know about it, maybe you should find the Wardens that the Chantry ran out of Kirkwall.” he glared at Cassandra, who looked stricken.

“It was Lord Seeker Lambert who gave the order to arrest the Wardens,” she informed him, her lips pressed together.

“And Nightingale told us that you knew that at the time, but didn't do anything.” Varric narrowed his eyes. “The Divine didn't want to step on his toes. But guess what? It happened, and the Lord Seeker still helped start a war anyway. Wasn't the only one, but he still did it.”

“It was—the circumstances were different,” Cassandra said. “We had not realized how extreme things had become.”

“Apparently not,” Arethin muttered. “So, we should look for Wardens, then.”

“I suppose,” Cassandra said, still seeming dubious. “I will ask Leliana when we return.”

There were few eluvians in Ferelden, the network being mostly restricted to the Frostbacks and the places most in need of quick travel. There was no Denerim eluvian, as the King and Queen had rejected the placement outright, for fear of Chantry involvement. There was, however, an eluvian several days' ride away from the city, at the very northernmost edge of the Brecelian.

Bull, for his part, was fascinated. 

“How do these work?” he asked as they wandered the Crossroads. He stared around, his single eye taking in every detail.

“You would have to ask Keeper Merrill or one of her students,” Arethin said. “I do not know.”

“It is interesting that you are so curious about a magical creation,” Solas said, watching Bull steadily.

“These are useful,” Iron Bull explained. 

“So use is your only motivation?”

“Well, it's also a magical thing that isn't spitting demons out or trying to kill me. That's pretty novel in my experience.”

Solas ducked his head, surprised into a small smile.

Cassandra shook her head when they finally made it out of the crossroads, looking sick.

“I cannot stand those things,” she muttered, glaring at the eluvian. 

“Do you have problems with them?” Bull asked. “It was weird, but I didn't feel different.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Apparently they have adverse affects on humans,” she said. “Not elves.”

“And not dwarves or Qunari, either,” Varric pointed out. “Just you.”

Cassandra sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“It likely has something to do with the lack of dwarven magic,” Solas said. “And it is possible that Qunari—or Vashoth if you prefer—are related to elves in some way.”

“Yeah?” Bull looked at him in surprise. “How do you figure that?” 

“Some interesting memories I have found in the Fade suggest it,” he said. “I would have to do more research elsewhere, but it's possible.”

Bull tilted his head to one side. “We do both have pointy ears,” he said. “And I've heard there's other similarities.”

When they returned to Haven, Iron Bull greeted the Chargers happily, and everyone else went their own ways.

One or two of the Grand Enchanter's people had arrived, following Arethin's route through the eluvians, but too many of them were human and refused to do the trip. Many of them would be coming the long way around, and would arrive in the next several months. 

Everyone was concerned when they heard what King Alistair had said about the Wardens.

“We must find a Warden,” Leliana said. “Surely there is at least one who still remains...” she tapped her finger on the table, pursing her lips.

“If you can find one, that would be excellent,” Arethin said. “But we need to focus on the Breach first.”

This was agreed upon. Leliana would search for a Warden, and in the meantime, everyone else would work to solve the problem of the Breach.

Iron Bull and the Chargers had set up just outside the walls of Haven, among the soldiers and the dwarves and the Dalish that were all camped there. 

Ardeque, the halla-mistress, was busy harassing all of the Chargers about their mounts. 

“Ah! Lavellan!” Ardeque said upon spotting her. “It seems no one understands how to pick a mount now. I am forced to do it for everyone.”

“Oh, you needn't--”

“Of course I need to. Can't leave any of these people on their own, can I?”

“Halla-keeper--”

“Would you believe it, Ambassador Montilyet said they were going to find their own horse-master! And I said to her, honestly, how can you trust some shemlen farmer over a good Dalish halla-keeper?” she shook her head. “Now, you--” she pointed to Bull, who raised his eyebrow. “You get a hart,” Ardeque proclaimed. “You're too blasted huge for anything else. And your horns will match.”

“If you say so,” Bull said, clearly amused. 

“Very good,” Ardeque nodded. “Now, I'll go find what you need,” she said. “I'll be right back.”

“Quansyroth and their animals,” Dalish shook her head as Ardeque left. 

“The last person I met that—determined—about horses was—well I don't think I've ever met someone that blasted determined about horses,” Krem said, blinking a little. 

“I believe Halla-keeper Ardeque has appointed herself halla-keeper for all of Haven,” Arethin said. “Anyway. I meant only to see how you were settling in.”

“Not bad,” Bull said, glancing up at Haven. “Could use some work. But it's not bad.” he looked at her. “It's going to be a problem, how there's no real leader here,” Bull told her.

Arethin pursed her lips. “I know that full well,” she informed him. “But I can do little about it right now.” 

“You should think about it. What are you all going to do when the Breach is closed, but there are still problems to be solved?”

She rubbed her forehead. “I don't know,” she admitted.

“You're setting yourself up for a power vacuum.”

“Not the way the shemlen worship me.”

“That's not exactly better.”

She grimaced. “I know,” she said. “I will...think on it. There must be a way to unite us without being...overbearing.”

“This is where the Qun simplifies things, you know,” he informed her. 

“For a time, perhaps,” Arethin shrugged. “Not forever.”

“I've heard that,” Bull said. 

“It's true enough. Push too hard, and people will break.” 

He pondered her, expression contemplative. “Could be,” he agreed. “But you better come to a decision soon. This isn't exactly a great position to be in.”

She snorted humorlessly. “Where is, nowadays?”

“It is quite fascinating, how you have maneuvered around the desires of the Chantry,” Solas told her. They sat together in a quiet moment at last, during a lone period of time where Arethin had no meetings. Solas still preferred to lurk at the edge of town, fortunately not in the woods today, so they were outside, sitting on one of the low stone walls overlooking Haven.

“How so?”

“I had been under the impression that their organization held the majority of the power, however cracked and divided.”

“That would have been true before the Breach, I think,” Arethin said. “And if it had happened before the Orlesian civil war—well, who's to say? They still are powerful.”

“Do you worry what will happen if they remember that?”

“What do you mean?”

“If they regain their power and their will, do you worry that they will remember that you are not one of them? They call you Herald now, what if you change their minds?”

“Then they must act quickly,” Arethin said. “I don't think Queen Aeducan and King Alistair will let them get the kind of power they had back again.”

Solas considered her. “And do you put your faith in them, then?”

“In Queen Aeducan? Maybe.” she rested her chin on her hands. “The Prince-Consort is a Dalish cousin or therabouts, so they are an ally to us.”

His expression was unreadable. “And that is quite a fascinating development in and of itself.”

Arethin couldn't help a smile. “It is, isn't it? I remember when my Clan first heard the news—we could barely believe it, it sounded ridiculous.” she sighed. 

“How so?”

“Well, when have you ever heard of a dwarven Queen marrying an elf?”

“Never, it is true.”

Despite how Solas was abrasive and withdrawn much of the time, Arethin still found him calming to be around. He did not complain about magic the way Sera, Cassandra, and Iron Bull did, nor did his presence carry frightening implications like that of Keeper Lanaya or the other Dalish. 

As long as Arethin was on her own, and looked away from the Breach, things seemed at least somewhat normal. But if she was among her people, ironically, she felt strange and singled out, responsible for far more than just one Clan. 

She sighed, glancing over at a pair of Dalish hunters who walked down a path on the lower tier of the village. 

Solas followed her gaze, and seemingly her train of thought. “The needs of your own people are different from the needs of others, are they not?”

She nodded. “A bit, I suppose. Everyone else says I'm their god, but my people know me.”

“Seeing people who are supposed to know you look upon you as a savior is unnerving,” he said.

She glanced at him. “I suppose,” she said. “What makes you say so?” 

“Would it not be?” he looked out over the village, his expression pensive. “In the Fade, I have seen many dreams of people who were elevated as saviors. But if the story is told from their perspective, they are simply people, afraid and uncertain of their burdens.”

“Like who?” 

He considered for a moment. “During the battle of Ostagar, there are many views,” he said. “A villain condemns the noble Wardens to their deaths. A general beset by loss pulls his troops away from a fight they cannot win. The truth is somewhere in the middle, of course, but the fears of the general and the Wardens are clear to anyone who need look. Truly, there are not saviors or gods. There are only people—the greatest triumphs and tragedies come from them, but people are also too quick to forget that.”

“I suppose lots of people just want someone to take their problems out of their hands,” Arethin said, with no lack of bitterness. “All those people look to me to solve all their problems—but what about _them_? I can solve— _maybe_ —one problem. But the rest?” she shook her head. “Cassandra talks about restoring order. Sera wants to make everything 'normal' again. The Grand Enchanter wants us—wants me—to help her people. How am I supposed to do that?” she demanded. “I only--” she cut herself off. 

“People want to put their hopes into one person,” Solas said. “Especially in times of crisis.”

“But I can't—what if I can't do what they want?”

“Attend to your own goals,” he advised. “Do nothing that does not further them.”

She sighed. "I suppose that will have to do."


	6. An Unquenchable Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so _this_ is where alexius has been hanging out
> 
> i always felt his time shenanigans weren't _quite_ expanded upon enough, so here we are 
> 
> the moral, kids, is don't mess around with a time machine unless you really know what you're doing

“We have located one Gray Warden,” Josephine told Arethin, several days later.

“Only one?” Arethin raised her eyebrows. “In all Ferelden?”

Josephine inclined her head. “Only one. Now you must recall—the Ferelden Gray Wardens would have good reason to avoid us--”

Arethin shook her head. “Not if you made your Coalition alliance well-known.”

Josephine's eyes darted to Leliana's. Arethin simply sighed.

“Who's the one you found?”

“A man named Blackwall. He is assisting refugees in the Hinterlands, and some Inquisition scouts ran across him.”

“I see—well, bring him here, and we can ask him about the Calling.”

“Being a Warden, he is not exactly very likely to come when Chantry personnel ask him to,” Leliana pointed out, her tone dry.

“Then I shall ask one of the hunters to locate him,” Arethin said, irritated. “You need not emblazon the Chantry insignia across every chestplate and banner, you know.” she glanced at Barris, then Cassandra, who both flushed a bit redder. 

“Then we shall do that,” Leliana said. 

“In the meantime, we have heard word from Madame de Fer,” Josephine said. “She resides in the estate of one Duke Bastien,”

“Then we shall go to her, as soon as this Blackwall comes to us.”

“Very well.”

Warden Blackwall was a large, bearded man, who did not seem happy to be escorted to Haven by a pair of dwarves. 

He narrowed his eyes when he looked down at Arethin. “Are you the Herald?” he demanded.

“People call me that,” Arethin said. “I never claimed the title.”

“I see.”

“Do you know where the other Wardens have gone?”

“I haven't heard anything for months," he said. "Then a pair of dwarves comes--”

“We needed to find you, and we didn't think Inquisition soldiers would really make you want to come.”

He snorted. “You thought right.”

“Tell me, are you hearing the Calling?”

He hesitated. “Why?”

“It might have something to do with this. Are you or not?”

“No.”

“Hm.” Arethin pursed her lips. “Well...then I suppose you can be on your way, Warden,” she said. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

She turned to go, but he spoke again. 

“Wait a minute—you can't just drag me out here, and then--” 

“There's a hole in the sky, Warden,” Arethin said. “I can do whatever I need to to close it.”

He scowled at her. “Fine—listen, perhaps—if this—maybe you need a Warden to fix this problem,” he said. 

“Then I'd welcome your help, Warden.” she said. 

After Blackwall arrived, Arethin soon left again to Duke Bastien's estate. She brought with her Solas, Cassandra, Sera, and Iron Bull, leaving Varric and Blackwall behind to guard Haven. 

The trip there was uneventful, and it seemed that Arethin's companions had finally settled into a more comfortable way of traveling. Solas still bickered with Sera and Iron Bull, but the fights were not nearly so contentious as they had been. They had all grown more used to Sera's enthusiasm, and both Cassandra and Iron Bull were calming with their propensity to take new developments in stride.

It was when they got to the Duke's estate that things began to take a turn for the strange. 

They approached the estate, but when they got close, they were blocked by a strange...obstacle, like a magical barrier, but one that was shimmering like sunlight on the surface of a lake. 

“What is that?” Arethin breathed. She reached out a hand to touch the distortion, but pulled back at the last minute. It felt something like a rift, but not exactly. 

“Ideas, anyone?” she looked around. 

“Creepy,” Sera grimaced. “Don't touch it!”

Solas leaned in to examine it closer. “A spell made to affect the Veil in some way,” he said, a frown between his brows. “Or, if that is not the case, the spell is woven deeply into the Veil itself.”

“Can you tell the kind of magic used?” Arethin asked. “Summoning, blood magic--?”

“Blood magic would be much more destructive,” Solas said. “The Veil here is fairly intact.”

“So, that rules out both blood magic and summoning,” Arethin sighed, running a hand over her head. “No damage means no demon summoning, at least, and hopefully we can rule out any aggressive healers...”

“Aggressive healers?” Iron Bull asked.

“A Kirkwall phenomenon,” Cassandra brushed him off. “Healers who used their abilities to harm rather than heal.”

“The magic is more similar to your mark than anything else,” Solas said. “Perhaps you can use it on the field.”

“Wait,” Sera said. “Does this thing go all the way round?” she tried to peer around the field, to see if there were any breaks in it.

They rode several minutes up and down, but the field curved around the estate, unbroken. They had not the means to go over it, and it seemed to encircle the estate entirely.

“What about dug under?” Sera suggested.

Cassandra paused, and they looked at each other. 

Sera snorted. “Diggin's a lot less weird than magic,” she said. “Maybe it's just like—one a'them metal things you put over roast chickens.”

They had no shovels with them, but a force spell could be used to dig a crude tunnel. Arethin tried to dig underneath the shield, but the further she dug, the more of it she encountered. After a while, she shook her head.

“It goes down at least four feet,” she said, pointing to the large hole. “And we don't really have the means to dig any more. We have to use the magic option.”

Sera groaned, and Cassandra looked distinctly displeased. 

Arethin and Solas examined the field, while the others stood guard. 

“You might be able to use your mark,” Solas reminded her. “If you can alter the Veil enough to alter the parameters of the spell...”

“Hm,” Arethin pursed her lips. “Well—I don't know. The way it's woven into the Veil means I might have to damage the Veil to get through.”

“You could fix it up again, though, right?” Sera piped up, shifting from foot to foot with nerves. “That's the point, innit?” 

“Likely, but I just don't like causing the damage in the first place.”

“It may not damage the Veil in the same way re-opening a rift does,” Solas pointed out. “A different spell may cause it to react differently, and we can find no other way past.”

“You're sure? Maybe we've been going about this wrong.” Arethin aimed a fireball at the distortion, but it just bounced off. “Hm.” she frowned. 

“What is it?” Cassandra asked. 

“The spell _bounced_ ,” she said. “It rejected the energy.”

“Someone manipulated the Veil so energy is rejected rather than stopped,” Solas said. “The energy has nowhere to go, and may rebound on its caster. That is...unlike most barriers.”

“Exactly,” Arethin said. She held up her mark, and immediately noticed how the two magics had a strange similarity to them. “It is very different,” she agreed. “I wonder why that is...?”

“With the Breach having appeared, many people would have studied it, and not all for beneficial purposes,” Solas pointed out. 

Arethin reached out to the barrier with her magic, the way she might to a rift, and could feel the way the spell wove itself into the Veil. If the Veil was one cloth, this spell was a cloth of a different color, but they wove together as if made for each other. 

The mark could unweave it. She had no need to cut the Veil as she did with the rifts, all she needed to do was find a loose thread--

And _pull_ \--

And all of a sudden the barrier was behind them. 

“Well,” Arethin said, looking over her shoulder. “I certainly didn't mean to do that.”

“What did you do?” Sera demanded, looking from where the barrier had been to where it was now. “That was weird! What _was_ that?”

“I tried to undo it the barrier, but I don't think it liked it,” Arethin said. 

“We are inside the barrier now,” Solas pointed out. “We should see if we can find this Madame de Fer.”

Cassandra faced the barrier. “Are you quite certain I could not try to break it?” she said, chewing her lip.

“No, your abilities would only strengthen the Veil,” Solas said. “They might weaken the spell, but the spell itself is strengthened by how it is interwoven with the Veil.”

Cassandra scowled, glaring at the barrier.

“Come on,” Arethin said. “We're inside, so we need to see what's happening.”

They had emerged on the edge of the estate, and before them was an enormous house surrounded by a high wall. It was a rich man's house, decorated with the traditional Orlesian gilt and statuary. Now that they looked at the windows, they could see movement, and someone watching from the top of the wall. 

Whoever was on the wall got down, and they didn't see them again.

“Would anyone be expecting us?” Arethin muttered to Cassandra. 

“Madame de Fer is an ally,” Cassandra said. “There should be no problems here,” 

“I dunno about you, but it looks like there's a lot of problems to me,” Sera said, wrinkling her nose.

They cautiously went towards the building, when an explosion collapsed the roof on the south side.

“What in the Maker's name--?” Cassandra exclaimed, and someone came pelting out to meet them. 

A man in Tevinter-style traveling clothes waved at them. He came to a halt, hands crackling with magical energy. 

“Uh...Lavellan...” Sera muttered, raising an arrow to her bow. The ground all around them began to rumble, the dirt churning, and the group drew closer together. 

“What's going on?” Arethin demanded of the man.

“Funny, I was going to ask you that,” the man said, as several skeletal hands began to claw their way out of the earth. A necromancer. “You have oh, a minute or so to tell me what you're doing here, or something will happen that I'm fairly sure you won't like.” his eyes slid to Arethin's marked hand, and he frowned.

“We are here for Madame de Fer and her allies,” Cassandra snapped, stepping forward, her sword out. “Who are you?”

The corpses stilled, and the man blinked. “You're—Madame de Fer knows you?”

Cassandra nodded. “We need her help. Please—where is she? What's going on?”

“That is rather a more complicated question than you might suspect,” the man sighed. “Come on—hurry, Vivienne has him occupied but it won't be long before--”

Suddenly, they found themselves back at the head of the path. The man was gone, and on the house there was no sign of damage. The dirt was unchurned, the grass whole and even. 

Arethin blinked, feeling dizzy. “What just--?” 

“I—I have no idea,” Cassandra said, staring around. Her sword was back in its sheath, and she grabbed its hilt, confused. 

“This...is weird,” Iron Bull said, and he too grabbed for the handle of his large waraxe.

“I feel sick,” Sera groaned, and indeed she did look a little green. 

Solas frowned. “We must move forward and learn what is happening,” he said. He was ashen, and his hands trembled. “That was—there was a great amount of energy tied in what just happened.”

They walked towards the house again, this time more slowly, watching everything around them. There was no sign of the explosion that had damaged the house, not even any smoke.

Again, someone emerged from the gate and raced to meet them. As he came nearer, they realized it was the same man from before.

“What's going on?” Arethin demanded as soon as he got close enough to speak to. “Who are you?”

“I am Dorian Pavus,” the man said. Like Krem, he had the sharp features and large nose of a Tevinter. His copper skin had a healthy glow but his weary expression told a different story. “But that's neither here nor there at the moment. Nor is much of anything else, actually.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Alexius just looped us again—and if you know Vivienne, then you must be friends. Come on, this way, I'll try and get in an explanation before Alexius figures out what's going on.”

“Alexius?” Arethin had to trot to keep up with Dorian, who lead them back to the house at a quick pace. 

Dorian nodded. “He has a vested interest in Vivienne—Madame de Fer—and her mages. He needs them for something and he doesn't want them to be in contact with the Chantry or the rebel mages. Hence that field you see.” he glanced at the shimmering magical field overhead. 

“Who is this Alexius, precisely?” Cassandra asked, her eyes narrowed.

Dorian sighed. “He is a Tevinter mage, he does many illegal things, and has a lengthy history that we can't get into right now. He is part of a cult called the Venatori, who are the real problem here.”

“What was that—thing,” Arethin said. “That—whatever it was that put us back at the beginning of the path?”

“Alexius can affect time,” Dorian explained. “He's been trying to alter events in the past--” he looked at the mark on Arethin's hand. “Possibly something to do with you, if I'm correct in understanding things. However, he can't quite manage it. He can't change the past and heading to the future seems like a fruitless endeavor for him. So, what he _can_ do, is take about a day, and loop that period of time over and over again.”

“What do you mean 'loop' it?” Iron Bull asked. 

“Ah--” Dorian waved a hand, searching for the words to explain. “As if the day were a book, and he keeps going back to the beginning because he doesn't like the ending.”

“How can he accomplish such a thing?” Cassandra demanded. 

“That's one thing I don't know, but certainly wish to find out.”

“You said he cannot alter the past,” Solas interjected. “How is this phenomena any different?”

“I have a number of theories about that, but I think it's something to do with that he can affect time he already affected.” at their baffled looks, he sighed. “I would love to give a treatise on time magic, but ironically, time is something we don't have. When he finds out you're here, he'll reset everything again, and we'll have to start all over.”

“What do we do?” Arethin asked.

“We've been trying to get his amulet—the item he's been using to affect time—away from him for ages. We haven't succeeded yet, but we're trying again.”

“Ages?” Cassandra said, and frowned. “The barrier has only been up a few moments.”

“Has it? How pleasant for you. It has been much longer in here.” Dorian's tone grew dark, and they all glanced at each other.

The inside of the house was bright and pleasant, as if it had been prepared for visitors. It smelled very strongly of lyrium and smoke, and the halls that Dorian lead them down were crowded with busy mages running about. 

It was in a large, central hall that a tall, beautiful woman came striding over to meet Dorian. She was several inches taller than even Cassandra, and her horned headdress gave her a few extra inches of height. She was dressed in a long, armored mage coat, and in one hand she bore a staff that looked to be made of metal, not wood. Like Arethin, she had deep brown skin, and despite the chaos around them, looked elegant and composed. Her brow was furrowed in worry, but other than that, there was no sign that she was concerned in any way.

“Dorian, did you--” her gaze landed on Cassandra. “Seeker Pentaghast...?” she said, blinking. “It is quite a pleasure to see you, but...how did you get here?”

“Everyone, this is Madame de Fer,” Dorian said. “And...I would quite like to know how you got here myself.”

“We used this,” Arethin held up her marked hand. “It can affect the Veil and it's magical, so it can affect that field around the estate.”

Dorian and Vivienne exchanged a look. Vivienne stepped forward and examined the mark, her brows knitted.

“And who exactly are you, my dear?” she asked.

“Arethin Nadur Lavellan, Dalish ambassador and the bearer of the mark,” Arethin said. “We need your help.”

“Our help?” she raised her eyebrows. “What for?”

“To...close the Breach.” Arethin frowned at her. “You are the one who contacted us.”

“Did I...?” Vivienne blinked, trying to remember. “Oh—yes, it was before the barrier went up,” she nodded. “My apologies. It was a very long time ago.”

“Not for them,” Dorian piped up. “Outside, it's only been a moment or two.”

“A moment...” Vivienne breathed, and met Arethin's eyes. 

“How long has it been for you?” Arethin asked, glancing from Dorian to Vivienne.

They looked at each other.

“It is difficult to tell how long, exactly, my dear,” Vivienne said. “Some loops are shorter than others. But several years—more than five, less than ten.”

“Five years?” Cassandra mouthed. “But you have not changed—not aged!”

“Of course not,” Vivienne waved a dismissive hand. “We cannot age when time keeps looping around again.”

Arethin looked between them. “Why--”

Someone came pelting around the corner. “Madame!” an unfamiliar young mage shouted for their attention. “Ser Pavus! It's the bloody Venatori again—they saw whoever came through the field--”

“Is Alexius trying to change the field?” Dorian asked.

The mage shook her head. “Not sure what he's playing at, but the Venatori are trying to get through again! Connor broke his arm and there's still fighting--”

Vivienne and Dorian looked at each other.

“We need to get over there,” Dorian said. Around his hands and wrists blue fire started to appear, and he walked after the messenger, who lead them down the hall.

“Of course, darling,” Frost formed on Vivienne's hands, and she summoned an ethereal sword. 

“Wait!” Arethin called, following behind. “Let us come too—we can help!”

“As you will,” Vivienne said. She gave them a bitter smile. “Risk is a more unusual factor than you might have understood it in the past here.”

They came to a great hall where several mages fought several other mages, but both parties were dressed distinctly differently. As soon as Dorian and Vivienne entered the hall, a drastic change came over it. The walls froze over, snow falling from the ceiling. 

“Alexius,” Dorian called, and the fighting stopped. “I think you know how this will end.”

“But of course, Dorian,” an oily voice responded, and a man in a Tevinter-style hooded coat came to the front of the hostile mages. “We mean no harm. Only to get to know your new friends.” he looked at Arethin, and his eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” Arethin demanded.

“I am Gereon Alexius, my dear lady, and I am simply attempting to rectify a spell gone wrong.”

Iron Bull snorted. “I think it's a little beyond that at this point.”

“Perhaps. That will not stop me trying to solve the problem.”

“And what is the problem? What's going on?” Arethin asked. “What is this?”

“He has kept us locked in this— _prison_ ,” Vivienne hissed. “Demanding that we join him and his idiot cult, wanting us to exalt whatever monster he declares as a god.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Alexius said. “It was not my doing that caused this disaster. If you had cooperated with us from the start--”

“Likely they would be dead, or your slaves,” Dorian snapped. “It isn't us who essentially broke time, Alexius. _You_ did that.”

“Would you like to explain that, incidentally?” Arethin asked. 

“You are the one with the mark upon your hand,” Alexius said. “You should be able to work that out for yourself.”

Arethin was out of patience. “And how exactly might I do that?” she gritted.

Alexius sighed. “It matters little,” he said. He raised his hand, and something gleamed in it.

“Alexius, no--” Dorian began, then everything went white, and Arethin and her companions found themselves outside again.

Arethin blinked.

“Presumably, this is what Alexius has been doing the entire time that the mages have been trapped here,” Solas said. He was a bit paler than usual, but otherwise was unruffled.

“This is bloody stupid!” Sera exclaimed, stamping her foot.

“That is certainly true,” Arethin said. “Come on, we need to find Dorian and Madame de Fer again.”

They did indeed come across Dorian again, muttering curses to himself as he trudged up the hill to meet them. 

“Come on,” he snapped. “Bloody Alexius—we've been trying to find a way to get around that reset of his, but every time he does it we just end up back where we started.”

“I might be able to use the mark to help,” Arethin said. 

“It's possible,” Dorian agreed. “I've been trying to get a hold of his amulet, but your way might work as well.” 

They hurried back into the mansion, and Dorian glared at his surroundings. 

“Alexius is letting this go on a little long,” Dorian said, pursing his lips. “We haven't stopped him seeing you...why would he not reset time again?” 

“He might need me to get close,” Arethin said. “Depending on what he needs the mark for.”

“If Alexius can only affect events that he has participated in, perhaps he needs you in proximity to affect you with his spell,” Solas suggested. 

“In that case, we'd need to keep you away from him,” Dorian realized.

“Then how are we to get at the amulet?” Arethin demanded. “We can't spend more time here!”

“We've been working on a plan,” Dorian said as they entered the hall where they had first met Vivienne.

“Sadly, our plans have not come to fruition,” Vivienne said, striding towards them. “Perhaps you might shift the balance, my dear.” 

“His magic is very powerful,” Arethin said. “We need to do something that upsets his spell in some way.”

“You might be able to change his spell if you cause damage to the Veil,” Solas said. “Blood magic or a summoning would be quick ways, but the mark is most likely the safest.”

“Damage the Veil?” Vivienne curled her lip. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“The spell is woven into the Veil,” Solas argued. “You will not be able to affect it unless you affect the Veil itself.”

“Well, we can't do anything if we aren't close enough,” Dorian said, he and Vivienne glancing at each other. 

“Veil damage—if you theory is correct—by itself will not work,” Vivienne said. “One mage became desperate, and she summoned a demon with blood magic. There is Veil damage, and yet it did nothing—but she was far away from Alexius himself.”

“We need to be close enough to Alexius to affect his amulet directly,” Dorian deduced. “We've figured that much out, at least.”

“Then how are we going to get close?” Arethin asked. 

“He won't listen to anything either of us say,” Dorian said, pointing to himself and Vivienne. “We've lied to him much, much too often for that to be of any use.”

“But he doesn't know us,” Iron Bull pointed out. “And if he wants to get close to Lavellan, is there any reason we couldn't walk right up to him?”

“That is not the wisest of moves one could make,” Vivienne informed him. 

“It might be the only one we have. Otherwise, we're stuck here.”

Arethin chewed her lip. “Why is Alexius here, specifically?” she asked. “What made him come here, instead of Haven?”

Vivienne curled her lip. "The master that the Venatori serve needs mages,” she explained. “He cannot reach the Grand Enchanter's mages, so he came here, to us. He knew we would never allow him inside the walls, so he cut us off from the rest of the world.”

“But if he blocked you off, how did you get a message to us?” Cassandra asked. 

“We sent word before he came,” Vivienne explained. “And when he arrived, we could not get any word out.” 

“But the barrier only came up when we approached,” Arethin said.

Vivienne nodded. “Yes, that came later. First, he had his people surround the estate, so we couldn't get out. He had been trying to do—something—for months,” she said. “I suppose when you came, he realized his situation was untenable, and did...this.”

“He wasn't expecting your arrival. Just before you came, he got some sort of message from whoever he answers to, and then tried—whatever it was—that separated us from the rest of the world in time as well as space.” Dorian explained. 

“It appears his magical reach far exceeded his grasp,” Solas said, brow furrowed. “He either overestimated his abilities, or was very desperate.”

“In that case, he'd probably want to see us very badly,” Arethin reasoned.

“I could organize a meeting,” Dorian said, then both he and Vivienne looked over Arethin's shoulder, to the other side of the room. 

“Felix!” both Vivenne and Dorian exclaimed, smiling. Coming through the door on the opposite side was a young man, around Dorian's age, with a sharp-featured face and sallow skin.

“How are you?” Dorian asked, looking Felix over. 

“You did not put yourself in danger coming to us, did you?” Vivienne asked.

Felix shook his head.

“Who are you?” Arethin asked.

'I'm Alexius' son,” Felix said. “I've been trying to help—I'm not part of the Venatori, but Father won't listen to me.”

“Can you help us?”

Felix nodded. “Father won't stop, but I think I can still get him to meet with you,' he said. “He won't listen to Dorian or Madame de Fer anymore, but you...he just might.”

“Alright,” Arethin nodded. “Then you must get us that meeting. We can try and take the amulet away from him then.”

They met Alexius in the huge, central hall of the suite. Arethin stood with her people on one side, as well as Dorian and Vivienne.

Felix stood by Alexius on the other side, with several other mages in Tevinter style clothing accompanying them.

“Alexius,” Arethin nodded. 

“Lavellan.” Alexius smirked. “How very much I have heard of you.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Indeed I have. Now, my Lady, why are you here?”

“I'm here to try and make peace between your two sides,” Arethin said. “Who better than a third party?”

“Who indeed?” 

“Now,” Arethin said. “Is there some way we can settle this?”

“Do you know who those two are?” Alexius demanded.

Dorian snorted and folded his arms. Vivienne did not make an outward expression of disdain, but she still radiated it as surely as if she had. 

“They seem pleasant enough,” Arethin said. “Tell me—what is your quarrel?”

“Dorian was my student,” Alexius hissed, and Dorian stiffened. “We sought only to help these mages, who were thrown from the Circle and the rebel mages alike, and reach out our hand to assist them. Madame de Fer refused, and Dorian betrayed me to join them.”

“And what of the barrier?”

“An accident,” Alexius said, his voice smooth and oily. “An accident caused by Madame de Fer's own mages interfering with a spell of mine.”

“Liar,” Dorian muttered.

“Now,” Arethin said, ignoring Dorian. “I'd heard you wanted to meet me. Why?”

“I need your help,” he said.

“And what is it you need?”

“You are in possession of something very important,” Alexius said, his eyes flicking to her mark. 

“Is that so?”

He inclined his head, a smile gracing his lips. "Indeed it is, my dear." 

Alexius raised the amulet, and it glowed a sickly green that warped the Veil around it. Before anything could be done, Arethin grabbed at the Veil with her mark, and it tore under her hand. 

The entire room tilted, and everyone staggered.

Vivienne laughed. 

“It appears your spell is not working in quite the way you hoped, darling!” she called to Alexius.

Alexius raised the amulet again, sweat dripping down his forehead--

The Veil tore--

And everything went white, then dark again.

Arethin found herself knee-deep in dirty water, and spun wildly, disoriented and confused. She was in an unfamiliar room, the ceiling low, the walls windowless and made of mossy stone. 

“Oh, for the love of the Maker!” Dorian exclaimed, and she spotted him on the other side of the room she now found herself in. “Where are we now?”

“The cellars,” Vivienne said, blinking. “We're in the cellars.”

“How did we get here?” Arethin asked, casting around.

Dorian shook his head.

“I suspect you disrupted Alexius' spell in a way that disrupted time,” Vivienne postulated. 

“So now, on top of everything else, Alexius has _displaced_ us in time?” Dorian threw his hands up. “This is utterly ridiculous.”

“And to think, darling, that man was once your mentor,” Vivienne shook her head.

Dorian shuddered. “Oh, Madame, don't remind me,” he said. 

“How did that happen that you hate each other so much now?” Arethin wanted to know. "He even said you used to be his student, he didn't ignore it or pretend it never happened."

Dorian nodded. “He didn't used to be like this,” he said. “But...Felix caught the Blight.”

Arethin grimaced. 

“Felix has reached the end of all treatment we could find. He's been prepared for months, now, but Alexius...won't let it go.”

Arethin swallowed. “Of course he wouldn't,” she muttered. “It...makes sense.”

“Does it?” he glanced at her in surprise.

She nodded. “Come,” she said. “We should keep moving.”

Dorian and Vivienne exchanged a worried look, but they slogged on regardless. 

The cellars were crowded with a strange red growth, like the lyrium that had been in the temple. 

“Where did this come from?” Dorian breathed, reaching out to touch a growth before Arethin slapped his hand away. 

“Don't touch it!” she snapped. “It's poisonous!” 

“What is it?”

“Red lyrium,” Vivienne said. “I had thought that rumors of it being hazardous were simple rumors—or, if it was a danger, it was only to those who consumed it.”

Arethin shook her head. “Queen Aeducan has had researchers on it,” she said. “It's—oh,” she said. They came across a skeleton, half-buried in the lyrium. “It grows,” she whispered. “Not like proper lyrium. This is like an infection. It takes root in a body and it _grows_. I've heard that it's fed with blood, and that's why it's red.”

Dorian kneeled down next to the skeleton. “When did this...no one has died down here,” he looked up at Vivienne. 

“Not as of yet,” Vivienne said. She took hold of his arm and pulled him to his feet. “We do not know when we are, Dorian.”

“Yes...yes, of course.” Dorian shook himself, and they continued to explore.

The cellars seemed to have been converted to a makeshift prison, bars being haphazardly fitted in doors and cells being roughly hewn from the rock. 

“These weren't there before,” Vivienne murmured, gently touching one of the bars. “There were cells, but not like this.”

Arethin's stomach twisted. “Come,” she said. “We have to find the others.”

“Of course,” Vivienne agreed. 

They wandered halls empty except for the red lyrium, found many more skeletons and bodies with the stone growing out of them. However, no matter where they looked, they found nothing living, not even any guards or other Venatori. There hardly even seemed to be any rats or insects, something that troubled Arethin immensely.

Then Arethin heard singing, just on the edge of her hearing. “What's that?” she murmured. 

They went towards the source of the singing.

“When wending willows...no, that's not it. When willows wander...no, stupid, stupid...” That was Sera's voice, though strangely warped and distorted.

“Sera?” Arethin peered around the corner, and spotted Sera locked in a tiny makeshift cell. “Sera!” she exclaimed, shocked. 

Sera let out a horrified exclamation. “No, no, no,” she closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears. “You can't be here,” she croaked. “You're dead, and they don't come back!”

“Sera, it's alright,” Arethin assured her. “It's really me.”

Sera opened one eye to look at her. “Demons,” she muttered, and bit her lip. “Demons, demons...”

“Oh, for the love of—we aren't demons, and we aren't dead,” Dorian said. 

“Trust me, my dear, I would know.” Vivienne added.

“How come she's here,” Arethin asked. “And not with us?'

“She must not have been caught up in the initial spell—I suppose Alexius only aimed at you, Lavellan, and then the backlash only caught myself and Madame,” Dorian said.

“What are you talking about?” Sera demanded, one eye still closed.

“Alexius displaced us in time—surely you recall him bending it when we first met?”

Sera opened both eyes now, to glare at them. “Yeah...but he stopped doin' it when he killed you.”

“Well, he did it one last time. He didn't kill us, merely displaced us...” Dorian sighed and looked around. “Probably beneficial for him, honestly.”

Arethin smashed the lock on Sera's door, and it swung outwards. 

“Well...fine then. If it's magic shite, figures you'd get out in a pinch, Shiny,” Sera glared at all of them, then sighed. She stepped out, into the light, and Arethin suppressed a gasp of horror.

Sera was very gaunt, her cheekbones hollow, her skin waxy and pale from too long in darkness. Her clothes hung loosely, hinting at a body as wasted as her face. More than her emaciation, however, was the strange red gleam in her eyes, and the red lightning that flickered around her hands and head.

“What happened to you?” Arethin asked without thinking. She took Sera's chin and tilted her head back and forth, brow furrowed. “Let me see--”

“Stop it!” Sera jerked her head out of Arethin's hold. 

Arethin looked at her, and Sera turned her face away.

“I ran out of arrows, makin' them pay,” she said. “I just—I just want them to _hurt._ ”

“We can certainly do that, my dear,” Vivienne said. 

“Sera, do you know where the others are?” Arethin asked. 

Sera cast about the room, looking for something. She picked up a discarded longbow from the ground. “Yeah,” she said, stringing the bow with a cord she retrieved from her pocket. “Seeker and Bull should be alright, I think, still,” she said. “A few halls down.”

“And Solas?”

Sera looked at the ground.

“Sera?” Arethin's heart was in her throat. 

“He should be...alive, still,” Sera shrugged the longbow over her shoulders. “Keeps makin' trouble for them. Stupid bastard, I mean—I dunno, he's smart, but he's stupid. Last I saw, he--” she sucked in a breath. “We can go look for all of them.”

“Alright. Then we'll go.”

Sera lead them through the halls, to another room full of makeshift cells. Only one of these was occupied.

“Cassandra!” Sera exclaimed, running up to one of the cells. Arethin, Dorian and Vivienne followed close behind her.

“Sera?” came Cassandra's voice, hoarse and warped, which confirmed Arethin's worries. “How did you get out? How did--”

She stopped.

“No...” she breathed.

“It's them,” Sera said. “Alexius did...somethin', I dunno, but they're here now, so I guess they're real. Helped me out, anyway.”

Cassandra simply continued to stare.

Vivienne cut the lock off with a shot of ice, and the door swung open. Cassandra hesitated before stepping out.

Cassandra was as gaunt as Sera, wasted away almost to nothing under her armor. Her dark hair had grown to her shoulders, and was dull as old velvet. Her copper skin was dull as well, grayish and too pale, as if she were ill.

Her eyes, like Sera's, gleamed with a sickening red light. She avoided their gazes. 

“Cassandra...?” Arethin inquired. 

“Come,” she said. “If you are real...of course you are," she looked at Sera. "Magic cannot fool _you_ , can it?"

Sera mustered a pale grin.

Cassandra nodded. "Then we must hurry.” 

“Where are Solas and Iron Bull?” Arethin asked.

“Iron Bull is near,” Cassandra said. “Solas is...down below.”

“Why is he so far away from you?”

“Told you,” Sera piped up. “He kept makin' trouble.”

“Trouble like how?”

“He attempted escape more than once,” Cassandra explained. “And he helped us try to escape as well.”

“Never worked,” Sera shook her head. “But good on ol' Baldy for tryin', I guess.” she and Cassandra went to another almost empty cell block, and lead them to Iron Bull's cell.

“Iron Bull!” Cassandra exclaimed.

“Cassandra?” came his voice, warped like the others'. “When did you get out? Sera blow something up again?”

“Nah,” Sera said. “'s more complicated than that. Look!” 

Iron Bull blinked at them, his single eye glowing red like the last ember in a stove.

“You're dead,” he said. “There were burns on the ground and everything!”

“No,” Dorian said. “Alexius merely tried very hard.”

“It's them!” Sera piped up. “Gonna help us kill that prick,” she laughed, her laugh edged with slight hysteria.

“Well...” Bull sighed. “All right. Can't be much worse than this anyhow.”

Cassandra bashed the lock open. The door swung open, and Bull came out slowly.

Iron Bull was wasted, and somehow it was more unnerving on the large Qunari than it was on either Sera or Cassandra. His massive form was lessened, his bones far more prominent than they should have been. 

“Right,” Dorian said. “Now we find your last companion, if he yet survives?”

“Oh—he should still be alive,” Bull said. “They just keep him pretty far away from everyone else.”

They walked into a distant corner of the cellars.

“These weren't nearly so large before,” Vivienne murmured, frowning at the walls.

“They made them larger,” Cassandra said, her tone dark. Cassandra lead them down a set of grimy, dark stairs, that were roughly hewn from the rock. The mages shuddered as they entered another room, smaller and darker than the rest. There was magebane here, coated on the bars of the tiny cells.

“Is someone there?” 

“Solas!” Arethin hurried to his cell door. Solas blinked at the group of them, his eyes gleaming red in the dim light.

“You're alive,” he exclaimed, and his voice had the same strange weft and warp that the others' did. “But we saw you die!”

“Time magic,” Dorian explained as he blasted the lock off the door. “Alexius displaced us in time.”

Solas stepped outside immediately, with no question. “Can you reverse the process?” he asked, his tone urgent. 

“Hopefully, yes,” Dorian said, narrowing his eyes at Solas.

“Good,” Solas nodded. “What has happened here must never come to pass.” his lips thinned into a hard line. In the light, he was as wasted as the other three, his already-sharp face almost skull-like now, his skin stretched over bones and not much else. His eyes were sunken, and would have been in shadow were it not for the gleam of red lyrium.

“You understood that, Baldy?” Sera demanded.

“Of course,” Solas said. “Come, we must move quickly.”

“No one was disputing that,” Arethin said, as they all hurried back up the stairs. Arethin, Dorian, Vivienne and Solas all breathed a sigh of relief when they were away from the magebane bars of the cell. 

“Hopefully Alexius will not have realized you are here yet,” Cassandra said. “He hardly ever comes down to the cellars.” her mouth twisted. 

“He claimed the main hall for himself, in our own time,” Vivienne said with a disdainful sniff. “I venture to guess that he will still be there?”

“That is where we found him when we attempted escape,” Cassandra said.

“Well, the first time,” Bull said.

“How many times have you tried to escape?” Dorian asked, eyebrows raised.

“I got out of my cell loads of times, like four, 'cos when they had servants, they liked me,” Sera said. “And two times for Cass, and three for Bull--” she gave a hoarse laugh. “And you—bloody idiot, you tried to get out what, five times?” she asked Solas. “He _bit_ one of the guards one time, when they broke his staff, friggin' hilarious,” she told her companions, but Solas did not so much as frown. His expression did not change at all.

“It does not matter,” Cassandra snapped, her voice reverberating with red lyrium twisting. “We are leaving now.”

“Fine, fine. 'scuse me for lookin' for a bit of fun here,” Sera quieted and glared at the ground. Cassandra put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but removed it quickly. 

They made their way up through the cellars, and according to Dorian and Vivienne, the whole estate seemed to have been changed and expanded.

“Yeah, we've heard them workin' on the walls and stuff,” Sera said when Dorian mentioned it. “Does my bloody head in some nights.” she paused. “When it's not all the music...”

“Music?” Dorian asked.

“Red lyrium poisoning makes you hear music,” Arethin murmured in his ear.

“Ah.”

Upstairs was no better than downstairs. They came across more bodies, some of them intact enough for Vivienne or Dorian to recognize. 

Any time either Vivienne or Dorian stopped beside a body, one of the pair would take their arm and tug them onwards. Soon they both gained a hard expression to their faces.

“Alexius will pay for what he has done,” Vivienne said, her tone dark.

“But of course, my friend,” Dorian said. “When would he not have done so?”

A tiny, predatory smile graced Vivienne's face. “Quite right, my dear.”

At length, they made their way outside, and Arethin's stomach dropped. 

“Creators,” she breathed, staring up at the sky.

“The Breach,” Cassandra exclaimed. “It's--”

“Everywhere,” Arethin shook her head, staring at the rolling mass in the sky. The sky was no longer blue, not anywhere, it just swirled and boiled with the terrible scar that was the Breach. The Breach crawled across the sky, spilling green and yellow clouds from the Fade, and periodic lightning flashes lit everything up. Stones floated, strange and twisted statues that were either Fade constructions or something that had been changed by proximity to the Fade. 

“Without you, the damage could no longer be held back,” Solas said. “Someone has been pulling at the edges of the Breach, but it has only resulted in the Veil breaking down in a way that poisons this world and the Fade.”

“How do you know?” Arethin asked, not taking her eyes off the sky. 

“I could feel it. I looked, in my dreams. This reaches even into the true Fade, into dreams.”

Arethin shuddered. “Come on,” she said. “We have to keep going.'

They went back inside, and found Leliana. 

She was trapped in not a cell, but a torture chamber. They heard her before they saw her. 

After they had freed her from her captor, she had no questions. She simply looked at Arethin, Dorian, and Vivienne, then went to find a bow and arrow.

“What are you doing here?” Arethin asked Leliana. She was gaunt and even paler than normal, her eyes and cheeks sunken and hollow. Fortunately she had no red lyrium tint, but that didn't seem to be too much of a benefit.

“You were lost,” Leliana said. “We needed to find you,” she shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “But all we found was this. But now you are here.”

“You're not curious as to how we got here?” Dorian asked, as Leliana cast about for a weapon.

“No.”

“We can reverse this,” Dorian tried again. “Alexius displaced us in time. We can go back and change it so that this never happened.”

Leliana snorted. “So this is all a game to you. A bad dream.” she glared at them as she picked up a bow. 

“It is no such thing,” Vivienne said.

“Yes it is,” Leliana snapped. “You mean to undo it—but it can't be undone. This is real, and it happened.”

“No one ever said that it was not,” Dorian retorted. “Do you think we are unfamiliar with terrible outcomes?”

The others all gave Vivienne and Dorian measured looks. 

“Neither of us have been infected with red lyrium, my dears,” Vivienne said, her gaze hard. “But we know our share of horrors. And we have lived through years of them, just as you have. You are alive. There is still hope.”

Leliana simply shook her head and pulled her hood up. “If you are to do what you wish, we must find Alexius.”

“Do you know where he is?” Arethin asked.

Leliana nodded. “Come. This way.”

She lead them through the castle. There was not another living soul, just dead corpses with lyrium grown out of them. 

“Did any of my mages survive?” Vivienne asked softly.

Leliana shook her head. “We are the last. Even their soldiers, their Venatori, were dying when I last knew. That torturer was the last. Once, they had many, but now they have none.”

“Why are you the only ones left alive?” Arethin asked.

“It amuses the Elder One,” Cassandra gritted. “He can win nothing else, because Alexius has failed him, so he torments us.”

“Do you know what exactly Alexius has been trying to do?”

“No. But whatever it is, he's failing at it.”

“How can you tell?” 

“This world is not a world of anyone's victory,” Solas said. “Everyone has lost. Everyone has failed.” 

“Oh.” 

“Think the Qunari tried to invade the south a few months back,” Bull piped up. 

“They did?” Arethin exclaimed, turning to stare at him.

“It worked about as well as everything else did. The Elder One smacked it down, last I heard, but there was still a lot of fighting.”

“They were using the eluvian network,” Solas said. “Many people have tried to take advantage of it.”

Arethin narrowed her eyes. “People like who?” 

Solas shrugged. “Anyone who located and sufficiently restored a mirror.”

“Is there an eluvian here? Could we use it?”

“I would suggest you not do such a thing.”

“Why not?”

“We tried.” Solas' expression was dark. “Once.”

Everyone refused to say any more on the subject.

“Who is the Elder One?” Dorian asked.

“Never seen him,” Sera said. “But he's the one in charge of everything.”

“We think he was the darkspawn from the Vimmarks,” Leliana said. “But we did not learn enough before...”

“Before what?” Vivienne said.

Leliana shook her head, and said no more on the subject.

Alexius was hidden behind an enormous door that was locked with red lyrium shards.

“Maker's breath, where did Alexius even find this?” Dorian asked, examining the door with his eyes narrowed. “He must have dragged it in from some ruin...”

“Never mind where he got it from, how do we open it?” Arethin asked.

“I suspect someone around here has the keys,” Dorian said. “Alexius still needs to eat—unless that, too, has been changed?”

He raised his eyebrows at their companions, but no one so much as cracked a smile.

“Right,” he said, turning back to the door. “Who would have the keys for this?”

It took some doing, but they finally found the keys. They were scattered throughout the building, some on bodies, some on those who were still alive.

At last, however, they opened the doors.

Alexius stood, not facing them, but facing a huge fireplace that flickered with green fire.

“I knew you would come,” Alexius said. A corpse, presumably one raised by Alexius, crouched in one corner. “I knew you weren't dead.”

“Have you ever known us to be less than absolutely persistent?” Dorian asked, he and Vivienne moving forward almost in concert. 

"We could hardly let you continue to make a mess of things,” Vivienne said.

Alexius glanced over his shoulder. “It doesn't matter now. Whatever you do will have no bearing on this world.” he looked up at the ceiling. “Nothing matters. The Elder One will come, for me, for you...you cannot stop him.”

“We can try,” Arethin said. 

“We created monsters of our own,” Alexius said. “But we forgot that there were monsters in these lands before any of us.” finally, he turned to face them. “There are so many terrible beasts in this world,” he said. “And we have woken all of them up.”

“What do you mean?” Arethin asked, narrowing her eyes.

Before Alexius could answer, Leliana hauled the ghoul to its feet, putting her knife to its throat.

“Felix!” Alexius put out a hand, and both Dorian and Vivienne's eyes widened. 

“ _That's_ Felix?” Dorian breathed, expression first one of horror, then of shock. “Maker's breath, Alexius, what have you done?”

“He would have died!” Alexius exclaimed, and Arethin's chest tightened. “I saved him!”

“You have done no such thing,” Vivienne said, drawing her spectral sword. “You have lost your son more thoroughly than any mere death could have done.”

“Please, I'll do what you want, just let Felix go!” Alexius pleaded with Leliana, who was unmoved.

“I want the world back,” Leliana growled, and cut Felix's throat. Felix fell, and Alexius was frozen for a minute.

“No,” he breathed. “ _No_!” 

He aimed a spell, but both Vivienne and Dorian charged ahead of the rest of the group, the spell glancing off of their combined barrier. Vivienne summoned not only a sword, but a shield from her magic, and Dorian was soon completely wreathed in flames. 

Vivienne reached Alexius, and she rammed her sword through his chest. He gasped, almost surprised, a spell dying in his hands. 

“There,” Vivienne hissed. “I believe that we are equals, now.” 

She dispersed the blade, letting Alexius fall.

“Alexius,” Dorian shook his head, his expression empty of even pity. “He lost Felix long ago, and didn't even notice.”

“What do we do now?” Arethin asked.

Dorian retrieved the amulet from Alexius' body. “Give me an hour to work out the spell, and I can send us back,” he said.

“An hour?” Leliana exclaimed.

“We don't have the time for that,” Iron Bull said. “Whatever you're doing, you need to do it now.”

“We will both do it,” Vivienne said, taking the amulet from Dorian. “Surely we can both work out the spell, my dear.”

“Of course,” Dorian said. 

Something pounded on the door. 

“Cast your spell,” Leliana said. “You have as much time as I have arrows.”

The others moved towards the door, and Arethin grabbed Solas' arm. “No,” she said. “I can't—I can't let you just commit suicide!”

“Look at us,” Leliana said. “We are already dead.”

“We will only live if this day never comes,” Cassandra said. She reached out and grasped Arethin's shoulder. “Please,” she said, her eyes brimming with regret and an emotion Arethin could not quite place. “Go quickly.” 

“But...” Arethin covered Cassandra's hand with her own. 

“This world can never come to pass,” Solas said.

The others left to guard the door, and Leliana stood in front of it, her bow at the ready.

Arethin wrenched herself away from staring at the door, to focus her attention on Vivienne and Dorian.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

Dorian shook his head. “Nothing—the mark might interfere,” he muttered. 

“Dorian--” Vivienne started.

“I almost have it,” Dorian said. Sweat beaded on his brow and Arethin could feel the Veil warp with the effort of his casting.

Something slammed on the door, and then the entire room shuddered, dust falling from the ceiling.

“What was that?” Arethin muttered, staring up at the ceiling. 

“He's coming,” Leliana muttered, drawing her bowstring back to her ear. “Be ready.”

Another slam on the door. 

“Dorian--” Arethin said.

“Almost ready!”

The door banged open, and demons poured through. One threw Sera's body over the threshold, and Arethin's stomach twisted. Another dragged a still-bleeding Solas behind it, and beyond the door she could vaguely see the shapes of Cassandra and Iron Bull. 

Arethin stepped forward, but Vivienne grabbed her arm.

“Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame,” Leliana intoned, her voice a harsh crow's call. 

“Dorian, hurry!” Vivienne snapped.

A black portal opened in the air, something like a doorway. 

“Andraste, guide me,” Leliana hissed, landing another arrow in another demon.

Vivienne dragged Arethin towards the portal. 

“Maker, take me to your side!”

The three of them barely dodged a fireball thrown by one of the demons, when the world shifted and resettled around them, and they were back where they should be.

Dorian clenched the amulet in one hand.

Alexius stepped back, startled. It was rather a shock to see him alive, but he looked different now than he had in the future.

“You need to do better than that,” Dorian growled, and fire began to lick up his hands and wrists. Vivienne drew her ethereal sword and they both advanced on Alexius. 

“All this, Alexius, all this—insanity, and what was it for?” Dorian demanded. The fire around his arms was so hot it started to go white, and he radiated heat. 

“A pathetic power grab,” Vivienne hissed, leaving trails of coldness in her wake. “The likes of which belong to lesser mages.”

“Enough! Don't!” Felix put himself between them and Alexius, and Vivienne and Dorian both halted.

“Felix, darling, get out of our way,” Vivienne snapped. 

“No,” Felix insisted. “You have the amulet. You don't have to kill him.” he looked at his father. “They won't,” he told Alexius. “Will they?”

Alexius shook his head. “There is nothing more I can do,” he said. 

Vivienne didn't let her sword spell go. “That lunatic has trapped us here for longer than I care to think,” she pointed the blade of her sword at Alexius. “If he had had his way, his actions would have doomed all of us.”

Dorian shook his head. “To kill a snake, one cuts off the head,” he said. “To kill a many-headed snake, cut off all the heads. He isn't the Alexius I once knew, Felix.”

“Both of you, stop it!” Felix demanded. “He's still my father—that counts for something, surely!”

“It does,” Arethin stepped in. “Dorian, Madame, you have the amulet. We can leave. Cassandra?” Cassandra came over, and it made Arethin relieved to see her as solid and strong as ever, with no red gleam in her eyes. “If we take him back to Haven, someone can try him for, oh, I don't know, however many crimes he's committed here.”

Cassandra nodded. “Yes, the Inquisition has that authority,” she said. “And if we do not, I am quite certain that there is someone who does.”

“There,” Arethin said. “We'll take him and put him on trial. Is everyone happy with that?”

Both Dorian and Vivienne seethed. 

“No,” Dorian hissed. “No, absolutely not. We have both suffered _mortal_ injuries at his hand--”

“Only to do everything over again,” Vivienne snarled. 

“Madame de Fer, you know that I would never do anything less than just to a criminal,” Cassandra said, and the expression in Vivienne's eyes softened.

Vivienne sighed. “Very well,” she said. “He may be taken to see trial. But I will see nothing less.”

“Of course, Madame.”

“Now that that's settled, we need to talk about the original reason we came here,” Arethin said. “Cassandra said that you and your loyalist mages would be allies to the Inquisition. Is that so?”

Vivienne inclined her head. “Yes, of course. We must support the true Chantry as well as the Circle.”

“Good. Then you are formally allied with the Inquisition, and have no wish to be an independent group?”

“We are as independent as any Circle is, my dear,” Vivienne said, her eyes narrowed in curiosity. “Why do you ask?”

“The Inquisition is heading the effort to close the Breach, but they are not the only people who are doing so,” Arethin said. “The mages under Grand Enchanter Fiona have lent their aid, as well as the Dalish Coalition.”

Vivienne's face soured at the mention of the Grand Enchanter. “I see.” she said. “And this is safe, allowing apostates and rebel mages into your care?”

“They're under their own care, Madame.”

“Hm,” Vivienne tilted her head up. “Well, the loyalist mages will ally with the Inquisition, if nothing else.”

Arethin looked at Dorian. “And...what about you? What will you do, now that Alexius is dealt with?”

Dorian laughed and ran a hand through his head. “We never really got to that part, did we?”

“No, we didn't.”

“Dorian was following Alexius,” Vivienne said. 

“I left Minrathous for—well, a large number of reasons, but one of which is that I knew Alexius was involved in something...very suspicious, at the least.” Dorian explained.

“So, are you with the loyalist mages, or an independent group?”

“At this point? I could hardly bear to part with my dear friend Vivienne.” he gave Vivienne a cheeky smirk and she did not roll her eyes, but radiated disdain all the same.

“Of course not,” she said, despite her disapproval.


	7. The Vale of Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that's why that is.

There were far fewer loyalist mages than there were rebel mages, and it made Arethin consider just how bad the situation in the Circles must have been. Being Dalish,she knew the horror stories, and of course she knew what the Kirkwall Circle had been like, but she also knew that it took a great deal of pressure for anyone to fight in any conflict.

Vivienne had also taken in a large number of Tranquil. Though they were unnerving, it was good that they had someone to care for them, and surely Pharamond at Haven would be able to help them. 

Vivienne and Dorian seemed to be considered the de-facto leaders of the loyalist mages by the mages themselves, or at least Dorian was Vivienne's second in command. This was odd, as Dorian was Tevinter and not technically a Circle mage. 

Arethin returned to Haven to find it in chaos. 

Grand Enchanter Fiona had raised an unholy uproar, and Arethin had no idea why until Leliana explained. 

“The Warden Blackwall is no Warden at all,” Leliana said. “Fiona was familiar with him, and this man is not him.”

“Who is he, then?” Arethin asked. 

Leliana shrugged. “We haven't had the time to look into it yet,” she said. “A criminal of some variety, I should think.”

“Don't worry about it,” Arethin said. “Does it seem very important to know? We're so close to closing the Breach...”

“Look into the matter,” Leliana suggested. “Beyond that, it is not so important, I agree.”

Arethin and Fiona went to speak to Blackwall themselves.

“If you're not a true Warden, you're not really any use to us,” Arethin folded her arms. “And I don't like being mislead.”

“I didn't realize that you needed a Warden for—for something related to magic,” Blackwall insisted.

“Well what in the name of Mythal could we have wanted a Warden for otherwise?” Arethin demanded. “You don't know where Surana is, and we have plenty of other warriors! What did you think a Warden did?”

“I didn't realize it was so involved with magic!”

Arethin sighed. “You should go and seek out the Wardens, if you wish,” Arethin said. “It is no business of mine where you go.”

Blackwall nodded.

“He has been impersonating a Warden!” Fiona exclaimed.

“And I am no judge or leader,” Arethin said. “He came to us to try and do good. So it seems only fair to continue to let him try.”

Fiona glared at him. “Ambassador--”

“If I am no authority, neither are you,” Arethin said. “The Inquisition barely has the authority to try Alexius, and he did a great deal of damage. This man can go and try to do more good if he wants.”

“Thank you, lady,” Blackwall said quietly.

“You're welcome. Now be off, the Grand Enchanter disapproves of your being here.”

“Wait,” Fiona said with narrowed eyes as Blackwall turned to leave. “You are not Blackwall. Who are you?” When he hesitated, she added “Do me the courtesy of telling me your name, at least.”

“Ranier,” he said at last. “Thom Ranier.”

“Then, Ranier,” Arethin said. “Go, and mayhap if you find the wardens they will take you in.”

So Ranier left.

Vivienne and Fiona hated each other. They could barely be in the same room without sniping at each other. Vivienne also had a very low opinion of Seeker Lanaya, a fact that she did not disguise. 

“I suppose you would have us all hiding in the forest, on the run from anyone who hunted us,” she told Lanaya when the subject of Dalish mages came up.

Lanaya's back stiffened. “Preferably, I would have no one hunting the Dalish,” she snapped. “Do not pretend that it is because of our magic that people attack us.”

“Is it not?”

“No,” she said. “It is not.”

“Precisely,” Fiona said. “The dwarves and the Dalish and the Avvar and countless others have no problems with mages being free, and yet you insist if they are free that only havok will result.”

“Disregarding the amount of demons that result from such a lack of regulation--”

Lanaya gasped, outraged, but Vivienne plowed ahead.

“What would you do about those mobs who attack defenseless mages? People are afraid of magic, and you cannot change that.”

“My people are not afraid of magic!” Lanaya exclaimed.

“Perhaps. But what do you do about the people who are, now?”

“I cannot answer for those who let their fears get the best of them,” Fiona snapped. “But I know that the solution to fear is not to lock mages away!”

“Your precious Templars kidnap children from our Clans!” Lanaya said. “Mages cannot marry, cannot have children of their own, cannot move about freely—Madame de Fer, is this really what you want?”

“What I want is somewhere where mages might be safe from the mobs that would harm them, and from the demons who would stalk them,” Vivienne said. “I want somewhere where they might learn in peace—the most dangerous thing to a mage is a lack of knowledge, and your scattershot methods of teaching will only enforce that.”

“I beg your pardon, but Calenhad Circle was not of Dalish design,” Lanaya snapped. “Calenhad, that place infested with abominations and demons, was a _Circle_.”

“Enough, all of you!” Arethin raised her hands at last. “Right now, we need to focus on the Breach. Then we can deal with the mage issue.”

“You will simply return to the Dalish when this is all over,” Vivienne said. “It has little to do with you, if what Keeper Lanaya has said is accurate.”

“It has to do with me if the Templars are reinstated and insist on hunting down my people,” Arethin snapped, her back going ramrod straight. “However, right this instant, we have to try and deal with the hole in the sky.”

“We must also deal with Elthina,” Leliana said, her brows knit in a frown.

“Truer words never spoken,” Fiona said. “But how do you wish to do that?”

Leliana tapped her lip. “She has her own supporters,” she said. “But many of those are dwindling, split between us, her, and any other options that they can find.”

“Lord Seeker Lambert's death also upset things,” Josephine explained. “Moreso because they have no idea who killed him.”

“They claim it happened right after the red lyrium infected Templars turned on the others,” Leliana said. “But it was not a wound inflicted by them.” 

“We must have control of the Templars back,” Cassandra said. Lanaya and Arethin exchanged a doubtful look. “We cannot restore the Chantry without them.”

“I agree, my dear, but how precisely are we to regain control of the Order?” Vivienne asked. “Lambert was a problem, yes, but they were dissatisfied enough that they joined him in the first place.”

“Not all of them,” Barris said softly. 

“Well, of course not, but the majority did,” Vivienne gave a tiny sigh. “We must address why that is.” 

“The answer is simple,” Fiona snapped. “They wished all power over mages, and when they could not have that, they wished to kill us.”

“As usual, you oversimplify a vastly complicated issue,” Vivienne said. 

“Well, Madame, what exactly is your answer?” Arethin demanded, folding her arms. 

“My dear, to regain the trust of the Order, we must give them something that Lambert never could,” Vivienne said. “The blessing of the Maker.”

“They had that, until they rebelled,” Cassandra growled. “And those who follow Elthina think that she has given it to them.”

Vivienne scoffed. “My dear, Elthina can claim no true control,” she said. “Not if we play this out in the correct fashion.”

“In that case, how should we deal with her?” Arethin asked.

“The Order can still be salvaged,” Vivienne insisted. “We can save them, while removing Elthina.”

Arethin snorted. 

“My dear, what do you propose to do?” Vivienne asked. “Let them run rampant? Kill all of them?”

“Well, I'm sure we could kill all of them, if we really wanted to,” Arethin said, her tone dark. Lanaya raised her eyebrows.

“We don't have to do that!” Josephine said. 

“Why not? Didn't they try to kill your Divine, and attack Val Royeaux?” Arethin asked. “Why do they somehow deserve more regard than mages? If a mage army had done that, you would have killed all of _them_!”

“An apostate destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry, and the Kirkwall Circle was annulled,” Fiona said. “Why do Templars deserve more consideration than mages?”

“Templars are readily manipulated,” Vivienne said. “Many of them are younger sons and daughters, the poor, the destitute, the ill-educated, reliant upon their superiors for what they must do.”

Barris frowned at her.

“I speak only the truth, my dear,” Vivienne said. “For all they are an effective army when wielded by the right hand, the fact remains that when taught to be a tool, one will behave as a tool does. Elthina is simply the incorrect user.” 

Arethin waved a hand. “We need to close the Breach before anything else. We can do that now.” 

Leliana hesitated. “There's the possibility that without the Breach, we will have no leverage over Elthina,” she said. 

Everyone stared at her.

“What do you mean?” Arethin asked at length. 

“My dear, you cannot seriously be suggesting that we wait to close that abberation,” Vivienne said, her eyebrows raised. 

“Not necessarily,” Leliana said. “However, at the moment, this is something that she is afraid of.”

“And we have also claimed that we are the only ones who can close it,” Josephine said. 

“Exactly,” Leliana nodded. “But when it is closed, they will have little reason to listen to us anymore.”

“Leliana, my dear, we cannot put off rectifying this accident merely because it is politically inconvenient,”

“The point is a bit moot, anyway.” Fiona kneaded her forehead. “We are still trying to work out the best way to approach the Breach,” she said. “It will continue to take time.”

“For once, we agree,” Vivienne said. “There can be no mistakes here. Any error on our part might only result in the Breach growing worse.”

“Therefore, we have some time,” Fiona said.

“But are we close?” Arethin asked.

“We're close.”

Dorian and Vivienne kept themselves close to the loyalist mages, who holed up in a small camp just outside of Haven's walls. Arethin went to go see them, and check how they were settling in. 

“This place is well enough,” Vivienne said. “Not very defensible, but it is good to be so close to the Breach.”

Arethin nodded. “I don't think everyone will stay here after it's closed,” she said. “But apart from that, how are you and your people doing?”

“Sleeping is rather strange,” Dorian admitted.

'How so?”

“Well—time passing is strange, truth be told,” he said. 

“How long did you spend there?” Arethin said. “You said years, but--”

“It was years,” Vivienne said. “A particularly frustrated mage calculated it.”

“In the future, you told Leliana you had seen your share of horrors,” Arethin said. “What did you mean by that?”

“You would not wish to hear it, my dear,” Vivienne said after sharing a look with Dorian.

“It's not important, not really,” Dorian said. “Better left forgotten.”

Arethin looked from one of them to the other. “I see,” she said. “I understand. Well, in any case, I am glad you are settling in well, considering the circumstances.”

Vivienne and Dorian exchanged a strange smile.

“Indeed,” Dorian said. 

“No one could be happier than us, darling.” Vivienne added.

“Oh—some woman named Ardeque came by and spoke a great deal about horses, then left,” Dorian said. “Neither of us are quite sure what that was about?”

“That's Halla-Keeper Ardeque Quansyroth,” Arethin explained. “I suppose she must think you'll stay here with your people most of the time, else she would have given you mounts right away.”

“Halla-keeper?” Vivienne raised her eyebrows.

“Like a horse-mistress,” Arethin said. “She came here with the other Dalish, and decided we weren't doing nearly a good enough job of finding mounts on our own.”

“Interesting,” Vivienne said, exchanging a look with Dorian. 

“If you wish to leave Haven, she'd be happy to procure you decent mounts,” Arethin pointed out. 

“We'll...speak with her on that,” Dorian said. 

It was a week after Vivienne, Dorian and the loyalist mages came to Haven that a ragged group of Templars arrived as well. 

They were a rather sorry lot, in battered armor, some with broken arms or other injuries. Cassandra met with their leader at once, and then brought Arethin to meet him as well. 

The leader was a blond man with the greasy skin and hair as well as the shakes of a lyrium withdrawal. He was tall, dressed in somewhat patchwork Templar armor, and had sunken and exhausted eyes. 

Arethin eyed him with a wary expression. 

“This is Cullen Rutherford,” Cassandra said by way of introduction. “One of the Templars who defected from Elthina's ranks. He has brought these other Templars to join the effort in closing the Breach.”

Arethin looked at him, a scowl on her face. “How lovely,” she said. “Why should I care?”

“They have pledged to give their aid to the Inquisition,” Cassandra explained. Her brow was furrowed as she looked at Arethin, as if she were trying to work out a puzzle.

“How nice for them. Why have you brought him to me?” she asked. 

“I dearly wished to meet you, Herald,” Cullen said, a nervous half-smile on his face. “To meet the woman who could close the Breach--!”

Arethin looked at him in revulsion. “And what do you think?” she demanded. “Did you expect a Dalish mage?” 

“I—had heard that you were Dalish,” he said. “I did not want to leap to conclusions.”

She sneered at him, then turned to Cassandra. “Well, now that they are here, what do you plan to do with them?” she demanded. “Keeper Lanaya and the Dalish and dwarven forces will _not_ like this—to say nothing of the Grand Enchanter's mages.”

“We can help,” Cullen leapt in. “I am certain your mage forces need--”

Arethin rounded on him, fury in her gaze. “Be silent,” she hissed. “I did not ask you.” she turned back to Cassandra.

Cassandra hesitated for a moment. “Lavellan—we do need their help,” she said, blinking. She frowned, as if something was puzzling to her. 

“We need nothing from Templars that we cannot get from ordinary soldiers.” Arethin snarled. “Less, even—when these—people—have too many problems with their lyrium shakes--”

“You are not suggesting that we turn them away?” Cassandra asked, aghast.

“That is exactly what I am suggesting,” Arethin said. “Turn them away, or draft them into your army as soldiers.” she gave Cullen a nasty look. “Then, at least, when the shakes get too much for them, you won't feel so bad about throwing them out on their miserable ears.”

“My lady--” Cullen began. “I—I apologize for anything we might have done to offend--”

“ _Offend_?” she turned to him, drawing herself up to her full height. “Anything you might have done to _offend_? Is the death of children a mere offense to you? Attacking innocent Clans, mutilating and imprisoning mages? A mere _offense_?”

“I don't—I didn't—” Cullen stammered, until Cassandra cut in.

“That is enough!” she snapped. “Lavellan, you tolerate Ser Barris perfectly well--”

“Ser Barris is _one former_ Templar,” Arethin hissed. “And knew full well the crimes of the Templar Order, hence why he came to you. This...man...” she gestured to Cullen. “Is one of almost a hundred, a hundred who did not seek you out until it became very clear that Elthina was not in the right, and that hundred could very well have rapists and murderers in it. If I were you, Seeker, I would throw them out. And if you do not, then it is entirely likely the Dalish and the mages will drive them out, because no one wants to be near a pack of slavering, idiot butchers.” she took several deep breaths. 

“We will...we will discuss this,” Cassandra said, her eyes flinty.

“Fine. Do as you will.” 

Arethin left, and slammed the door behind her. 

Several hours later, both Vivienne and Cassandra cornered Arethin, asking her to reconsider her position on the Templars.

“Why?” Arethin demanded. “You can have them here if it pleases you. Just don't expect the best of results.”

“That is precisely why we are asking you to—allow the alliance, at the very least, Lavellan,” Vivienne said with a sigh. “Your blessing would do much to mediate the arguments.”

“My blessing?” Arethin stared at them. “You would want me to welcome those scum here?”

“Why is this a problem for you?” Cassandra wanted to know. “You hardly cared if that man Blackwall was a criminal—you cared nothing for the Red Jennies--”

“Those people aren't Templars,” she hissed. 

“And what, precisely, is so different about Templars?” Vivienne asked.

“They'd drown your children if they had the chance, they just don't want to because they like having mages at their beck and call,” 

“Lavellan,” Cassandra was aghast. 

“Don't deny it,” Arethin snapped. “It's all abominations this and that right until someone needs a healing, and then magic is just fine, isn't it?”

“You are oversimplifying the matter,” Vivienne snapped.

“They take your children!” Arethin exclaimed. “A Circle mage can't have children, can't have a family, they separate brothers and sisters—you can't even write letters to your family unless you're a noble, and even then--” 

“That is for safety's sake,”

“No, it isn't!” Arethin insisted. “That's insane! What possible purpose could there be in preventing children from even writing to their parents?”

Cassandra looked downcast, ashamed. 

“It's because all the Chantry has done, all the Chantry has ever wanted to do, is use mages,” Arethin snarled, clenching her fists so tightly that her knuckles were white. “They didn't have the guts to kill all of us so they put the ones they could capture into a grinder so they came out with perfect, obedient, self-hating little warriors and healers--”

“You are wrong,” Vivienne drew herself up to her full height. “You claim that your people would do so much better? Without the knowledge of the Circles, the protection that they offer?”

“They only need protection because the Chantry taught them that magic was to be feared, that everything apart from the Maker was wrong!”

“And has Tevinter done so well? You saw Alexius, saw what happened when he was left to his own devices!” Vivienne demanded. “The Dalish, the Avvar? All those who let mages run rampant--”

“How is it letting anyone run rampant to not imprison them for something they were born with?” Arethin demanded. “All elves had magic once—would you lock all of us up? Claim that we were all dangerous?”

“A quaint myth, Lavellan, one I'd hoped you would not be taken in by and in any case, has no bearing on what happens now.”

“Ah, yes, the lady from the Circle knows ever so much about elvhen history,” Arethin snapped. “Admit it. They manipulated you as readily as they did everyone else. They made you into someone _obedient_ , someone who did everything they asked--” 

“I do nothing that I do not wish to, as I am sure you well know,” Vivienne said, her eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Enough!” Cassandra held up her hands. “Lavellan, I understand your—problems—with Templars--”

“No, you don't,” Arethin insisted. 

Cassnadra sighed. “Fine,” she snapped. “Then explain.”

She folded her arms, clenching her jaw in an obstinate fashion. “Haven't I said enough already?”

“Hmph,” Vivienne gave a delicate snort. “Half-formed arguments are not an explanation, my dear.”

Arethin looked her dead in the eyes. “Templars killed my son,” Arethin said, her tone utterly flat. 

The room went quiet. Both Vivienne and Cassandra stood in shocked silence for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“I am...I am sorry,” Cassandra said. 

“Who were these...people, who called themselves Templars?” Vivienne demanded, outraged. “They cannot be allowed to--”

“Well, they won't do anything anymore,” Arethin said, looking away from them. “They're dead. I killed every last one of them.” her lip curled with disgust at the memory.

“When was it?” Cassandra asked, shocked. “They have been—running wild for some time--”

“It was before Val Royeaux,” Arethin snapped. “They were still on the Chantry's leash. You know the law. If they find a mage, the mage must come. If the mage does not want to, they make them. If the mage fights...” her voice cracked and she bit her lip. “If he fights...they kill him.”

“Those Templars are not like these Templars, Lavellan,” Vivienne insisted.

“No?” Arethin said. “What happened to my son is just one sad story out of thousands, Vivienne, and if you deny that you are blind.”

“A tragedy cannot--”

“If it had been a mage of my Clan who killed a Templar trainee, the Templars would say they were justified in killing my whole Clan,” Arethin snarled. “Which is what they would have done if I hadn't killed them first.”

Vivienne and Cassandra looked at each other, quiet again. 

Arethin ran a hand over her head. “Think about this,” she snapped, her voice cold. “They kill children. They separate families. They've killed more of my people than we can count. We can't possibly sustain their lyrium habits, and you know what withdrawals are like.”

“The Templars who have come to us aren't violent, Lavellan,” Cassandra said quietly. “I have never heard of any Templars who would do such a thing. I know there have been...accidents...”

“You're a Seeker, Cassandra!” Arethin exclaimed. “How did you not know?”

Cassandra halted, taken aback.

“Accidents,” Arethin shook her head, disgusted. “Accidents! They gored my son—a _boy_ —with a _blade_ , and you call that an accident!”

“I--” Cassandra faltered. “I--”

“Perhaps these ones are not child-killers,” Arethin said. “But it does not matter. We cannot know, and my people cannot trust them.” 

“I will—something will be done,” Cassandra said. “Perhaps--” she sighed. “I cannot turn them away, not when we have accepted everyone else. Surely there is a place for them.”

Arethin snorted. “And you wonder why people lost faith in your Chantry?” she shook her head. “If the Chantry rebuilds the Templar order, you will lose the Dalish alliance, I promise you. And likely the Orzammar one as well.”

“I—will take that into consideration,” Cassandra sighed. 

Arethin snorted. “See that you do,” she growled, and shoved past them to leave the Chantry.

Vivienne and Cassandra watched her go.

“What shall we do, Cassandra?” Vivienne asked, shaking her head. 

“Maker,” Cassandra breathed. “I—I had not considered the ramifications of...” she closed her eyes. “I—I cannot believe it. I had never considered...”

“Never considered what?”

Cassandra just shook her head.

Vivienne stared at her. “Surely you were aware of the rules concerning families and children, my dear,” she said. “Templars are obligated to take mage children, and must defend themselves as well as others from magic. Some Templars cannot be trusted, and that results in tragic accidents. Many mothers would be distraught at her child being taken to the Circle at the best of times, and Lavellan's circumstances--”

“Why are you so calm?” Cassandra demanded. “Families—rent apart like that—I had always thought it was for the greater good, I had never--”

Vivienne's expression grew cold. “I see. You have never come face to face with those who were affected.” she shook her head. “Cassandra, my dear, I faced such things every day during my time overseeing Montsimmard Circle. Weeping children, terrified mothers and fathers, more letters than I can count that I could never deliver. One remembers that the sorrow of one family is little when weighed against the sorrow of many. You cannot tell me that you have never faced this before.”

Cassandra just shook her head. “I guard the Divine,” she said. “I—this—I am not accustomed to this.”

Vivienne was quiet for a long moment. 

“My dear,” she said at length, her voice soft. “If you are to heal the Chantry, and the Circles, you must face what your laws do. You must understand that though the laws work to protect the many, their result will hurt many as well. If you cannot understand that, you are not fit to lead.”

Cassandra glared at her. “How can you be so callous?” she growled. “Lavellan lost her _son_ \--” 

“I have heard that story a hundred times,” Vivienne's words were icy, her face as cold as the moon. “An accident. A vicious Templar who abused their power. A frail mage dying of cold, because the Templars felt she was too dangerous to care for. Babes torn from their mothers' arms. A mage made Tranquil for escaping to see his husband. Lovers, husbands, wives, separated forever. My question to you, dear Seeker, is how have you not heard that story, and a hundred others just like it?”

Cassandra stared at her. “I know—what the Circle does is for the protection of everyone--” she looked away. “I did not know how cruel it could be.” her words were soft, almost a whisper.

Vivienne shook her head. “If that is the best you can offer, Cassandra, then perhaps Lavellan was right. If you cannot face the consequences of your Order, then you cannot command them. If this is too much for you, send them away.”

Vivienne turned and left her then, heels clicking on the stone floor. The door swung shut behind her, leaving Cassandra alone. 

Cassandra took a deep, shuddering breath, and went to find Cullen.

“Cullen.”

Cullen looked up at Cassandra. 

“What has been decided?” he asked.

“Your people need to leave,” Cassandra said. “Go to--” she paused, and shook her head. “Caer Oswin will doubtless take you in,” she said. “But the Inquisition, cannot, in good conscious, do such a thing.”

Cullen got to his feet. “Seeker Pentaghast, I--”

“Go, Cullen.” Cassandra snapped.

“But the mages here--”

“When the Breach is closed, and order is restored, we will revisit the Templars,” Cassandra said. “For now...” she shook her head. “Too many things must be considered.”

“What possible things must be considered? There are mages here that need guarding--”

Cassandra glared at him. “You—you must know the effects of your actions,” she said. “Tell me—when you separated families from each other, how did you feel?”

“When I...what?”

“That is the law,” Cassandra said. “Mages cannot have contact with their former families. Mage children are to be taken from nonmage families, even if they are Dalish or Avvar or Vashoth. Tell me. What do you think of this?”

“Mages are—they must be watched,” Cullen stammered. “The people must be protected from magic.”

“And when people die under your care? What then?”

Cullen looked away from her. Cassandra's shoulders fell. 

“What then?”

“I—I do not know what you wish me to say.”

“That you are sorry!” Cassandra burst out. “That you are sorry for what we must do! That you know the end is worth it, that--” she covered her face and took a deep breath. “Leave, Cullen,” she said. “Simply go. Do not come back. I cannot promise what the Herald will do if you return here.”

Cullen stared at her, then went to round up his Templars. Cassandra took a deep breath, staring after him.

Arethin watched the Templars leave Haven, her arms folded.

“I see their stay here has been brief,” Solas came to stand next to her.

Arethin nodded.

“I cannot pretend that is not a relief,” he said. When she didn't respond, he glanced at her. “Is something the matter?”

She shrugged. He didn't say anything, just stood quietly beside her. 

“Do you have children?” Arethin asked at length..

Solas was silent for a long time, and at length he nodded. “No. Not anymore.”

She was quiet for a long moment. She closed her eyes. “So you know.”

He blinked, considering her words for a moment. “Oh...my friend,” he closed his eyes. “I do.” 

She hugged herself, and Solas carefully reached out and put a delicate hand on her shoulder. 

“This world is not a kind one.” he said.

“You don't have to tell me that.” 

“I know there is little I can say.”

“That's true.” she sighed. 

They were quiet for a long moment. 

“My eldest daughter died of illness,” he said quietly. “Something I could have healed, but I could not get to her in time.”

“I could've helped if I'd gotten there sooner,” she said softly. “But I didn't. I couldn't find him soon enough.”

“Him—your child?”

Arethin nodded. “My only son. The Templars--” she cut herself off. 

“Ah.”

“Have you ever run afoul of Templars?”

“No, I have tried to avoid them.”

“A wise decision. I suppose it's easier to hide as one person than as a whole Clan,” she sighed.

“Yes, I suspect that it is.”

She ran a hand down her face. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...well, I spoke too much.” she grimaced. “To Vivienne and Cassandra as well.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. They are the ones who would invite the order that killed your son into their midst.”

“Well, the Templars are leaving now, at any rate.”

“Yes.”

Cassandra came trudging up the hill. She met Arethin's eyes once and looked away.

“The Templars are leaving, I see.” Arethin said, her arms folded.

Cassandra nodded. “Yes. After what you—and Madame de Fer said...”

Arethin raised her eyebrows in surprise, and exchanged a look with Solas. “She didn't want them here either?”

“No. She did, but...” Cassandra shook her head. “I must...reevaluate my views. Both you and she have...a more complete picture of the Order than I do.”

“That is surprising, Seeker,” Solas said, and he raised his eyebrows, looking genuinely surprised. “Your own Order is in command of the Templars, are they not?”

“They are, but...” Cassandra sighed. “It matters little. They are gone now.”

“And what will you do about them later?”

Cassandra shrugged. “I don't know. I had not realized...” 

“Realized what?” Arethin asked, rolling her eyes. She hardly had the patience for Cassandra's crisis. 

“Our laws are there to protect the people,” Cassandra said. “But perhaps I spent too long at the side of the Divine, steeped in—politics, and game-playing, to see the true effect our laws had.”

“A common affliction,” Solas said, and his tone was not without sympathy, though his expression was cool and neutral. “Leaders may easily become disconnected from their people. It leads to terrible consequences.”

“Yes,” Cassandra still wouldn't meet their eyes. “I know. We only wanted...”

“I don't care about what you wanted,” Arethin snapped.

Cassandra winced. “I know,” she said. “I know, that what happened to your son was not—I cannot fix it with my desires. But I--”

“Lavellan!” the three of them were interrupted when Fiona came hurrying up to them.

“What is it?” Arethin asked.

“Lavellan,” Fiona's voice was soft.

“What is it?”

“I believe...we can close the Breach. We know how best to help you.”

Arethin let out a sigh of relief. 

“How?” she asked. 

“You are sure?” Solas asked. “Have you spoken with the loyalist mages--?”

“Yes, of course,” Fiona nodded. “Come—both of you, I can show you what we've decided on.”


	8. All Consuming, Never Satisfied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wonder where cole is?

The finished research involved a great deal of magical theory that was difficult for one to grasp. There was some trouble understanding all of it, due to the language differences and the very specific schools of magic involved. Although the Dalish mages had coordinated with Fiona, Vivienne and the rest of their people, there were still complications in writing the actual theory down. 

However, the full concept went something like this: 

Mages were capable of working in tandem. The larger the party, the more difficult it was, hence why most mages worked on their own. 

Arethin's problem, however, was that the Breach was too large to close by herself. Even though the mark acted like a foreign magical artifact, it still drew somewhat on her own magic to function, and the magic of one person simply wasn't enough to power such a large magical working. 

Fiona and Vivienne's people had spent quite some time observing and containing the Breach, and they realized they would need at least twenty people to work in tandem with Arethin, supplying her the power she needed.

One problem, however, was that they needed to figure out a way to channel all of that magic through Arethin without hurting her. The vast majority of tandem spells weren't performed on a person, but on an object. That much magic going through one person could hurt Arethin if it wasn't performed exactly right, and so the mages that had been picked had practiced over and over again on people who were not Arethin until they perfected it. 

So, they trudged back to the Temple, where it was as unpleasant as ever. Luckily, ever since Arethin's first failed attempt to seal the Breach, there were far fewer demons. The quarantine efforts had also helped considerably, reducing the number of people who might draw curious spirits. 

Solas was still poring over the notes that Fiona had given him as they walked, his brow furrowed. Dorian peered over his shoulder, making last minute corrections and noting them to Vivienne. 

“This seems sound enough,” Arethin said, looking over the plans herself. 

“Yes, well, you say that now, but we don't want to blow your arm off, do we?” Dorian said.

She glanced at him, eyebrows together in a frown. “You know, Dorian, I don't need to think of that being a possibility.”

“It would not happen,” Solas said. He glanced at Fiona. “You are certain of your spellwork?”

“Of course,” Fiona rolled her eyes. 

“Do you think we would endanger Lavellan with sloppy spellwork?” Vivienne asked, tossing her head.

“Well, you would prefer to endanger your Circles by damaging the Fade around them, so, yes, it is a distinct possibility.” Solas said.

“Now is not the best time for a fight,” Arethin said. “Although—how many Dalish mages do we have here?” she asked Lanaya.

“Several,” Lanaya said. “I summoned several of our own Veil experts to help.”

“Good, because otherwise, the Circle mages might make things unstable.”

“I beg your pardon?” Vivienne asked, her tone icy.

“The Veil is so thin that your paranoia and fear of your own magic, as well as that of the other Circle mages, might well draw demons,” Solas informed her. 

Vivienne gave a light laugh. “I hardly draw demons, my dear—I would think that would be more _your_ area.”

Lanaya chuckled. “People who think friendly thoughts draw friendly spirits where the Veil is thin,” she said. “People who are afraid of demons and think of all spirits as hostile? Well...”

“Yes, because a _profound_ lack of regulation and enjoying the company of demons is ever so conducive to safety,” Vivienne said, glaring at Solas.

“Vivienne, Solas is probably safer than any of us,” Arethin said. “Somniari are quite adept at dealing with demons. If they live to adulthood, they have to be.”

Vivienne gave a tiny sigh. “Might we continue, if you please?”

Arethin smirked. “Of course.” 

Arethin had to get close to the Breach for her mark to affect it, so they went to the site of the first rift again. The red lyrium was still there, as everyone had left it alone, not going near it even to clear it away. They avoided it as best they could, and fortunately, it did not seem to have grown any. 

Arethin held her hand up to the sky, towards the Breach. Immediately she felt her whole body charge with magic, and she stiffened. Her mind felt buoyant and she couldn't concentrate, and she could smell lavender and oranges and--

Someone put a hand on her shoulder.

“Calmly,” came Solas' voice. “Focus on the Breach. That is not your magic. You are merely borrowing it.”

Arethin took a deep breath. Solas' hand was an anchor, steadying her thoughts. She reached out with the mark, and felt the others' magic flow through it. She grabbed hold of the broken edges of the Veil, and gasped—it felt as if she had taken hold of a piece of broken glass. 

“That's different,” she muttered. “That isn't good.”

“The Fade is responding to thoughts of the Breach,” Solas said in her ear. “Surprise has given way to dread and terror, but you have the strength to close it. Now you need only the will.”

She nodded, and very slowly, closed her hand. She swore she could feel blood running down her arm, the pain biting and sharp and unrelenting, but she bit her lip and continued, clenching her fist, the smell of rust and smoke in her nostrils. 

Her chest heaved, and she started to sway, feeling as if the air were pressing down on her. Solas tightened his grip on her shoulder, and she let out a hard breath through her nose.

The Breach began to close. Very slowly, inch by inch, she felt the two halves of the Veil knit together. It felt as if she were forcing two pieces of metal to weld together with her bare hands, but gradually, the sky began to close. 

There was a sound like a clap of thunder, and she realized all of a sudden that the green glow of the Breach was absent. A _snap_ , and the magic of the other mages was yanked away from her, making her vision gray out for a moment, and she stumbled. 

Solas caught her before she could fall. 

“'m alright,” she mumbled, wiping sweat off her forehead. “'m fine.”

“The Breach is gone,” Cassandra came to her side, and they all stared up at the sky. Cassandra made as if to take Arethin's other arm, but Arethin flinched, and Cassandra backed up.

“Good,” Arethin panted. “Very good.” 

“Are you well?” Cassandra asked, her forehead furrowed in worry.

Arethin nodded. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. Backlash.”

Cassandra looked questioningly at Solas.

“Magical backlash,” he clarified. “She was the conduit for a very great deal of energy, and now that it gone, her body needs to compensate.”

“Remind me never to do group casting again,” Arethin sighed, finally letting go of Solas. She swayed again, cursed, and grabbed his elbow. 

“It worked,” Fiona said. She and Vivienne and Dorian came over to them as well, Fiona looking concerned. 

“Well, that's cheering,” Dorian said. “We should probably go back to Haven before Lavellan faints.”

“I am not going to _faint_ ,” Arethin informed him, glowering. 

Dorian rolled his eyes and went to her other side, helping to hold her steady. “Nonsense,” he told her. “You're only a few shades above a corpse, and I should know.”

“Are you sure it is closed?” Cassandra asked them, glancing up at the sky again.

“Cassandra, if it were open, you would know,” Dorian said. 

“The Veil is scarred here, but it is healed,” Solas told her. “It is safe to leave for now, although I would maintain the quarantine on the area for some time.”

“Yes, too many people could weaken the Veil again,” Fiona agreed. “Quite a bit of magic was already here—more people would make it worse.”

Cassandra nodded. “We will take precautions, of course,” she put her hand on Arethin's shoulder, and Arethin glared at her. Cassandra removed her hand. 

“Well, that's over with for now,” Dorian said. “We should return, shouldn't we?”

The sky was closed, and continued to be closed. 

Arethin stared up at the place where the Breach had been, still marveling. Haven was taking the time to celebrate, with many people dancing, drinking, or otherwise making merry. 

Arethin sat out on the stone wall that overlooked Haven, and couldn't find it in her to celebrate. Her stomach was still in knots, and she didn't think this was a good time to let their guard down. 

“Come on, take a break once in a while,” Sera had cajoled her. Sera was busy getting into a drinking contest with Bull, something Arethin was pretty sure wouldn't end well (even if it would be highly amusing to watch). Arethin had turned down her invitation, however, and felt restless, staring up at the sky. 

Cassandra was avoiding her. Arethin told herself she didn't mind, then figured Cassandra probably needed to get her priorities in order. 

Solas came to stand by her. She glanced up at him.

“Do you need something?” she asked with a sigh.

“No,” he said. “But you must consider the possibility that this is a temporary measure only,” 

“What do you mean?”

He looked up at where the Breach had once been. “The damage that the Veil has sustained over time is...impressive.” he said. 

“Do you think we will need to do more to fix it?”

“Possibly.” he glanced down at her hand, where the mark still glimmered. “Being able to manipulate the Veil directly would only help, if that is what you wished to do.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Should I want to do something else?” something prickled in the back of her mind. Warnings given by Keeper Zathrian, and things murmured by the spirits in the dead of night. 

“You have not researched fully the uses of your mark,” he said. “There are many possible ways it could manipulate the Veil, beyond repairing immediate damage.”

“Ways like what?”

“You have opened rifts to heal them. Perhaps you could open rifts in a manner that would be safe for people both in the Fade and outside it.”

“And why would I want to do that?”

“To see what would happen,” he said honestly, and she raised her eyebrows, mouth twitching in a tiny smile. “The openings in the Veil are almost universally traumatic,” he clarified. “Do you know what would happen if an opening were made cleanly, without pain?”

“I don't,” she admitted.

“Then perhaps that is an avenue to explore.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

She peered at him. “That sounds reckless.”

He shrugged. “Your mark is still there. It seems less productive to not learn what can be done with it.”

“I suppose.” she sighed, and looked out towards the mountains. She narrowed her eyes. “Do you see something out there?”

He looked where she looked. He frowned. 

There were lights on the mountain, like many torches coming their way. 

“Cassandra should know about that,” Arethin said. “That doesn't look right.”

Solas nodded.

“The lookouts have no idea who that is,” Cassandra came up to them before Arethin had to go to her. 

“No?" Arethin got to her feet. "Are they—how many people is that?”

“Large enough to be an army,” Cassandra worried her lip between her teeth. 

“They aren't under any banner,” Josephine had come out as well, to stare at the oncoming lights with her eyes narrowed. 

“Do you think they're hostile?” Arethin asked, though the moment the question was out of her mouth she realized it was entirely likely that they were.

“It would be best to prepare for them as if they were,” Solas said quietly. 

“I agree,” Cassandra nodded, and strode down the hill, shouting orders to the guards. Josephine shuddered. 

“We should tell the others,” Arethin said. “Hopefully no one's too drunk to fight.”

Solas grimaced. 

She located Sera, Dorian, and Vivienne. Iron Bull had already spotted the lights as well and gathered the Chargers together. Fiona and Lanaya pulled their people back to the keep as well. Josephine shifted from foot to foot, looking nervous, and both Leliana carried a loaded crossbow in her hands.

“We're boxed in if they're attackers,” Lanaya said, shaking her head and staring out at the mountain. 

Vivienne gritted her teeth. “We should have moved the instant the Breach was closed,” she said, pacing back and forth as they waited for news. 

“It was hardly twelve hours ago, Vivienne, we wouldn't have gotten anywhere,” Dorian reminded her. 

They all looked as Cassandra came hurrying over, Varric in her shadow. 

“Some of the forward scouts see people wearing Templar armor,” Cassandra said. 

“Some of the scouts talked about monsters made up of red crystals,” Varric said with a grimace. “That'd be the red lyrium.”

“I need to lead the troops,” Cassandra said. “Keeper, Grand Enchanter--”

“This is your ground, Seeker,” Fiona said. “We will defer to you.”

“Yes, our people don't know this area well,” Lanaya agreed. 

“What are the weapons here with the longest range?” Vivienne asked. 

“Artillery,” Cassandra nodded and swept away, towards the catapults that were positioned within the bounds of Haven.

“Madame de Fer, would you be willing to lend those skills you used in your defense of Val Royeaux?” Fiona asked.

Vivienne gave a smile. “But of course, my dear.”

The others glanced at each other.

“Keeper?” Arethin asked Lanaya, who shook her head.

“We'll put our archers at the walls,” she said. “Madame de Fer, Grand Enchanter, our mages can coordinate with you. Lavellan--”

“I can work with the mages,” Arethin said, squaring her shoulders.

“No,” Lanaya shook her head.

“ _No_?" Arethin stared at her, aghast. "Keeper--”

“We might need you later,” Lanaya said. “What if that Breach tears open again?”

“But--”

“Lavellan, please.” 

Arethin narrowed her eyes. “Lanaya--”

Someone pounded on the gate. Everyone jumped, and looked at each other.

Cassandra came back over. “We called everyone in,” she said. “Who--?”

“One of the Dalish hunters, Lady Cassandra!” called a man from on top of the wall.

“He's not one of us!” a hunter called back. 

“Then who is it?”

“ _Don't stand there debating all blessed night_!” came a bellow through the gate. “ _Let me in or do not!_ ”

“Open the gate,” Arethin called.

A man practically fell through the open gate. He straightened, and Arethin was struck by vivid yellow vallaslin on a golden-skinned face.

“Who are you?” Arethin asked.

“That does not matter,” the man said. “The army that is on the way--

“We can see it,” she said. “What do you know about it?”

The man nodded vigorously. “I know enough. They really can't stand you.”

“Well,” Vivienne rolled her eyes. “That is certainly enlightening.”

The man sighed. “Listen to me,” the man said. “You have...a very bad problem at the moment.”

“Felassan,” Lanaya breathed. Arethin whirled to face her. 

“ _What_?”

“That's Felassan!” Lanaya repeated, and the so-named Felassan gave an exasperated huff. 

“Oh—we don't have _time_ for this!” he exclaimed. “That—that thing, that thing that has been calling the Wardens and anyone infected with red lyrium,” he shuddered. “It  
is—a very old, very nasty darkspawn, and it came with a Blighted dragon.” he pointed over the mountain. “They're both coming this way, and you need to get out of here, now.”

“Where would we go?” Cassandra demanded. “We cannot simply abandon this place to go wander through the wilderness--”

“There's a fortress, to the north,” the man said. “Abandoned, huge, and forgotten. If you get out of the way of the army, you can reach it.”

"How do we even know to believe you?” Arethin demanded. “Why are you here?”

“I am here to help,” Felassan insisted. “And I say to you, you very direly need my help.”

“But how do we get out of the army's way?” Arethin demanded.

He sighed. “That, I couldn't tell you,” he said. 

“There might be a back way out,” Leliana said. “This town has many back passages and strange paths in and out of it. If we got everyone to the Chantry--”

“That would only work if you stopped them from following you,”

“We can use the artillery to cause avalanches,” Barris had come out, and was watching the approaching army with a critical eye.

“Then do that,” Arethin instructed. 

Barris nodded, and shouted commands to some of the soldiers on the walls. Within a few moments, one of the trebuchets launched a missile at the mountain.

Snow fell down the side of the mountain, swamping a good portion of the army, and they felt the rumbles from Haven.

Cassandra smirked despite herself. 

“That won't stop them for long,” Felassan said. “That darkspawn thing is very determined.”

“And what would you suggest we do?” Arethin asked.

“Well, start more avalanches, for one.”

“Very well,” she said. 

The trebuchets were used to great effect. Arethin was a little worried about starting an avalanche on their side of the mountain, but they couldn't worry about that now. One thing at a time.

The army blocked off the main roads, and where the army didn't block it, snow did. They gathered their people into Haven, where mages on the walls did their best to assist the artillery and they tried to find another way out.

The army, when it finally came close enough that they could see its soldiers, was made up of people in Templar armor.

They all had red lyium glow about them, or worse. Some were little more than red lyrium monsters, covered in the red mineral. 

“I suppose that is where Lambert's Templars must have gone,” Cassandra said, staring out at the Templars.

Leliana was certain that there were caves of some variety, but they had yet to find a path that they knew lead away from the village. 

“ _Dragon_!” came a bellow from one of the troops, and everyone ducked as a huge dragon swooped overhead. 

“Get back to the Chantry!” Cassandra cried, and everyone ran for it. The dragon began to burn the town, spitting white fire. They pulled back to the Chantry as best they could, as it was the only building that could withstand the fires.

When the dragon came, finally the Templars reached them, and with no one left to guard the walls, they burst into Haven proper. There was a mad scramble as everyone bolted for the Chantry, trying to avoid both the fire and the Templars.

All was in chaos when they slammed the doors of the Chantry closed. 

Arethin's chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath. 

“Who made it back?” she asked, looking around. “Who are we missing?” 

“I don't know,” Cassandra shook her head. “We can't count yet.”

“What do we do?”

“We cannot go back out there,” Vivienne said. “The walls are lost--” 

Felassan appeared at Arethin's side, making her jump. “It's you he wants,” he told her, voice grim.

Arethin blinked. “Me? Why?”

“That thing on your hand,” he said, nodding to it. “It draws an awful lot of power. You can practically feel the magic coming off of it.”

“Then why hasn't he come before?”

“Probably couldn't find you until you closed the Breach,” Felassan shrugged. “Or he wasn't prepared. Or closing the Breach made him angry. I'm sure you can ask him yourself once he gets here.”

“Then what do we do now?'

“You need to go to the mountains--”

“But _how_?” 

“There is—a way out of the Chantry,” the all turned. Chancellor Roderick leaned heavily against the wall, blood seeping from a wound in his stomach.

“What?” Arethin murmured.

“A back passage—you wouldn't know it unless you'd made the summer pilgrimage.”

Arethin approached him, first holding a hand out, but then putting her hand down. “Where does it lead?”

“To the mountains,”

Arethin nodded. “Felassan—this fortress, where is it?”

“Here,” Felassan passed her a sheaf of parchment. “A map.”

Arethin looked at the map, then handed it to Cassandra, a plan forming in her head. She took a deep breath. “We need to distract that dragon and that darkspawn beast,” she said. “So everyone else can get out.”

“How?” Cassandra asked.

“I can draw him off,” Arethin said.

“No!” Keeper Lanaya exclaimed. “Absolutely not!”

“Lanaya, he wants me,” Arethin said.

“We only have the word of—that one—that that's true!” Lanaya pointed at Felassan.

“Well, if it's not true, he'll have a mage running around and distracting him from everyone else,” Arethin said. 

“Lavellan--” Lanaya gritted her teeth. “Deshanna told me to make sure--”

“I don't care,” Arethin snapped. “I'm of better use out there than in here. If Deshanna told you what happened, you know why.”

Lanaya looked stricken. “At least take someone to help you,” she said, switching back to Common.

Arethin looked around at her companions. “But—if--”

“You're not runnin' around fightin' a dragon without me,” Sera informed her. “And if mages're good for anything it's fighting dragons, I bet,”

“Indeed we are,” Dorian said with a dangerous smile. “Don't even think of leaving help behind, Lavellan.”

Arethin sighed, and made up her mind. “Very well—Solas, Sera, Vivienne, Dorian, you're with me—short range fighters and everyone else, stay with the civilians.”

Cassandra caught Arethin's arm. “Lavellan—are you sure you won't need another warrior?”

Arethin glanced over at Dorian, then Vivienne, who each met her gaze. Vivienne drew a spectral sword from thin air. 

“Trust us, Seeker,” Dorian said, and fire began to creep up his arms. “We will be fine.”

“Don't need to be _creepy_ about it,” Sera grumbled, stringing her bow.

“Think about it like this,” Arethin said, as the group set off towards the doors “You can make as much noise as you please.”

Sera grinned. “That works, then—let's make some friggin' noise!”

They left the relative safety of the Chantry and were immediately swarmed with red lyrium Templars. 

They were even worse up close. The big ones lumbered forward relentlessly, arrows bouncing off the rocky hide. Only spells or bombs were able to dispatch the horrors, and when they fell the red lyrium broke off in huge pieces to flake onto the snow. Despite this, however, no skin was revealed, almost as if they had never been anything but made of the red crystals.

Vivienne and Dorian were fascinating to watch in an all-out battle. Vivienne relentlessly charged opponents, fast as lightning with her spectral blade. Dorian left both fire and stirring corpses in his footprints, a profoundly unnerving effect. 

Sera and Solas stayed back, Sera strafing the field with arrows and lobbing bombs, Solas providing Barriers and twisting the Veil in a way that was gut-wrenching to the nearby mages and certainly deadly to the Templars.

“Where to now?” Sera asked when they'd dealt with the first wave of Templars. 

“This way,” Arethin gestured with her staff. “Down to that trebuchet. The further away from the Chantry, the better—and we might use it to hold off the army.” 

They hurried to the trebuchet, rescuing those people they could and wading through more of the Templars. 

The trebuchet was coated in ice, and creaked and groaned when it was moved. With a great effort, they managed to get the trebuchet turned around. 

“Here it comes,” Vivienne said, pointing to the sky. 

Sera held her bow up and shot several arrows, but they seemed to have no effect. Likewise, the mages all aimed and shot several spells, but those two did nothing. 

The dragon landed heavily on the snow, and the smell that rolled off of it was nauseating. Rotting meat and blood, it had a smell like a carcass eight days dead and left in the sun. It cut Arethin off from the others, and she tried to dodge around it to get to them, but it blocked her. 

“Lavellan!” she heard Dorian shout.

“Get out of here!” Arethin yelled. “I'll find you!”

She heard Sera swear a blue streak, but all thoughts of her companions were cut off when the man came into view.

The first thought that came to one's mind when one saw him was that he _must_ be a man. He had arms and legs and a head. But truth be told, he barely resembled a man at all. He was absolutely enormous, easily the size of a bear standing on its hind legs. His body was twisted and enstranged, the muscles wasted away to nothing. His flesh was sparse, mostly covered by cloth and strange rocky growths, but where it was clear it looked like paper stretched to cover his bones. He had long, long arms that ended in huge hands with pointed claws. 

If the dragon smelled like death, then the man smelled worse, somehow. Not like a corpse, his smell was of ashes and fire, bringing to mind burning libraries, books upon books whose pages were crisped and burnt to ash. 

Arethin couldn't move. The smell choked her, that terrible ashen smell, like the death of nations. 

“Pretender,” his voice rumbled in her bones, and when he talked the strange rocky growth on the side of his head pulled at his scarred mouth. “You toy with forces beyond your ken, no more.”

His voice was never meant to be heard, the voice of something a thousand years dead.

“I pretend nothing,” she snarled, and felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She staggered backwards and tripped and almost fell. She glanced up behind him, at the mountain, but couldn't see anything. She could only hope that everyone was making a quick way out of the Chantry—not to mention Sera, Solas, Vivienne and Dorian. 

“Do you not?” the man's burning silver eyes slid down to the mark on her hand. “You wield stolen power you do not understand. What else could you be?”

“I stole nothing,” she said.

His mouth twisted. “Know me,” his voice made her bones shake. “Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One—the will that is Corypheus.”

“Corypheus?” she breathed. That was a nightmare name, a magister name, the name of conquerers and destroyers. She took a breath and summoned her courage. “If anyone's the pretender here, it's you,” she accused. “You're a darkspawn thing that wants to be something else. You're just poison and magic, no more.” 

He snarled again, and stepped forward. She shook, but didn't move. 

“You will kneel,” he commanded.

“I will _not_.”

He shook his head, as if disappointed. “You resist. You will always resist—but it is no matter in the end.” in one hand, he held a curious artifact. It was an orb that gleamed Fade-green and had a sort of fingerprint pattern on it. “What you believe is of no consequence.” he raised the orb. “I am here for the Anchor.”

The orb shone a poisoned red, and Arethin cried out, her mark brimming with pain. She was forced to her knees, and Corypheus strode closer. She tried to back away, but she couldn't move.

“I do not know how you yet live,” he was so close to her now, all she could smell was burning books. “You were a mistake, an accident. What you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

There was a _bang_ , and the mark blazed with agony, a hundred white-hot needles piercing through her veins.

“And then you used it to undo my work. The _gall_.”

She took several deep breaths, and forced herself to look at him. She glared, not trusting her voice.

He snatched her up by her marked hand, as easily as lifting a doll. Her shoulder screamed at her, almost wrenched from its socket, and she came face-to-face with him, staring into his silver eyes. 

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another,” he snarled, and she cried out as pain lanced through her arm again. “To serve the gods of the Empire in person. I found nothing—only chaos and corruption, dead whispers. For a thousand years I was lost, no more.”

Tears spilled down her face, unbidden, his voice reaching into her mind and scraping it raw, the smell of ash and dead knowledge almost too much to bear. 

“Beg that I succeed,” he murmured. “For I have seen the throne of the gods—and it was empty.”

He dropped her, and she gasped for air, reaching out for the first solid thing she could find—the handle of a sword. She scrambled away, her legs almost giving out on her, and came up against something solid.

The trebuchet.

He strode towards her, his steps slow and unhurried. 

“The anchor is permanent,” he rumbled. “You have spoilt it with your stumbling.” he pulled his lips away from his teeth, and Arethin moved back, trying to put the trebuchet between her and him. 

He didn't lash out at her again, which made her stomach drop—the possibility that this thing needed her alive, needed her for something else, made her mind flare with sudden horror.

Over the mountains, she saw the tiniest of flares. She sucked in a breath. 

She drew the sword against Corypheus, and hoped against hope that everyone had gotten out of the way. 

She slammed her foot against the starting mechanism for the catapult, and it flung a rock over Haven, and into the mountainside. She heard the rumble of an avalanche, and she, Corypheus and the dragon all turned as one to look at the mountain. 

Before anyone could do anything, a wall of snow slammed into all of them, and Arethin knew no more. 

When awareness came back to her, with it came the awful realization that she was completely buried in snow. She sucked in a panicked breath and inhaled water before she coughed and remembered where she was. 

With a great effort, she managed to create a quick heat spell that began to melt the snow around her. Everything hurt, and her left arm was on fire with pain. Even so, she stuck her other arm straight up, hoping she hadn't gotten buried upside-down. The water that formed from the snowmelt trickled down her side, so she was lucky in that regard.

She dug upwards, and after a few moments, burst through the snow. She was freezing, soaking wet, and exhausted, but she was alive. She found herself in some kind of cave or passage, and looking up, she saw the glint of stars overhead. She must have fallen into a cellar or one of the tunnels under Haven Leliana had mentioned. 

She walked forward, through the passage, everything hurting. Eventually, she came out of the cave, onto the mountainside, and shivered. It was nighttime, and the wind blew hard, going right through her ruined jacket. 

She rubbed her arms, calling magical heat, but she was so exhausted that she knew it wouldn't last long. She wasn't sure if she should stay in the cave or leave, try to find the others. It was possible that Corypheus was still out there, and searching for her. 

It would be foolish to try and walk out into the snow, so underequipped, at night. She gritted her teeth, and clung to the inside of the cave.

She was so cold. And tired. She wanted little else than to go to sleep, but she knew she couldn't. That would be very bad. 

If she stayed here, they might find her. 

The ashen smell of Corypheus was still in her nostrils, and every noise she heard made her flinch, searching for the dragon overhead.

Some time passed, and she found herself walking. She blinked. She wasn't sure when she'd started to do that.

She looked behind her, and found that she'd left the cave behind. Her tracks were covered by the snow. She looked overhead, and saw the larger of the two moons, shining silvery light down on her. 

She was so tired. She sunk in snow up to her calves, and every step took a little more energy than the last. 

She sank to the ground. The snow was so inviting, strangely. She just wanted to sleep. 

The world faded away, and the last thing she heard was the howling of wolves. Someone wrapped their hand around her arm.


	9. The Trouble With Creating Martyrs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for a good guy, arethin really favors the princess azula school of making speeches tbh 
> 
> the climate of skyhold is something i have a lot of questions about

Arethin half-woke, and found herself somewhere warm and blessedly dry, wrapped in warm blankets, but she had no idea how she'd gotten there. Confused, she stirred, trying to move, and someone pressed their hands against her shoulders. 

“Lie still,” they said firmly, and the familiar Dalish words made her relax. 

Someone else spoke. “Here--” someone pressed a cup of something to her lips. “Drink this,” they instructed. 

She drank, and found it was water heavily flavored with honey. It soothed her parched mouth and throat and was possibly the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted. She tried to move a second time, but the other person pushed her down again. 

“Stay still,” the person said, lowering the cup. “You dropped a mountain on your head, we'd all prefer it if you didn't tax yourself.”

With a dull realization, she recognized the voice. “Dorian?” she blinked, and his face swam into view. 

“Who better to unfreeze an elfin block of ice?” he asked, and his smile was dizzying. 

“Where am I?” Arethin mumbled. She still wanted to try and get to her feet, but the hands on her shoulders stopped her. 

“We are somewhere in the Frostbacks, Lavellan,” she looked up, and saw that the hands belonged to Solas.

“Am I dying?” she asked.

He gave her a weak smile. “No, my friend,” he said. “Just very, very cold.”

“Oh. Good.” she closed her eyes, and everything drifted away again. She heard Dorian and Solas talk over her, but their words were muffled. 

She woke again, properly at last, and found herself staring at the ceiling of a tent. She sat up, then gasped, absolutely everything hurting, her muscles and her joints screaming at her, even her mark pulsing with a dull pain. 

Someone laid a healing hand on her, and the pain eased. She groaned, and looked up at her healer.

“Hello,” said Solas. “I see you have awakened.”

“Hello.” Arethin nodded, and sat up, more slowly this time. “I'm trying.” she rubbed her head. “What's going on?”

“That has yet to be determined.”

“Why? Where am I?”

“The Frostbacks. We have escaped Corypheus' army, but have still not settled.”

“The Deep Roads?” Arethin grimaced and held her side. “We could go there...”

Solas pressed his hand to her, and her pain eased. “That is being debated at the moment.”

“Did everyone make it out?”

“Not enough did.”

She closed her eyes. “Who?” 

“Many of the mages, and the Inquisition's soldiers. Many of the soldiers lent by the Dalish and Orzammar.”

“Lavellan?” Cassandra poked her head in the tent. “You're awake.”

Arethin tried to get to her feet, and Solas helped her to stand. Cassandra moved forward, uncertain, and settled for hovering nearby. 

“How did I get here?” Arethin asked. “I—the last thing I remember was...”

“A—man named Cole found you on the mountainside,” Cassandra said. She frowned. “I... _believe_ he is a man.”

“You...believe?”

“It is...complicated,” Cassandra sighed. 

“Complicated?” Arethin blinked. “Never mind. Explain later. What do we do now?”

“Now, we are trying to decide,” Cassandra sighed. “We could take shelter with Orzammar, of course, and I am sure your people and the dwarves would be accepted, but--”

“The Inquisition, less so,” Arethin groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. “Creators, why does everything hurt?” she muttered to herself.

“A mountain fell on you, my friend.” Solas reminded her. 

“Oh. Right.” suddenly, she remembered. “Corypheus,” she exclaimed, grabbing Solas' arm in an iron grip. “The thing at the head of the army--”

“Gone,” he assured her. “Wherever he is, he has not followed us.”

“If you dropped the avalanche on yourself, you have also dropped it on him,” Cassandra said.

“Did you see him?” Arethin asked, looking from Cassandra to Solas. They both shook their heads. Arethin sighed and tilted her head back, then something else occurred to her. “Where is Felassan?” 

“He is not here,” Cassandra said. “He is either dead or he has left.”

Arethin worried at her bottom lip. “That is not good.”

“Who is he to you? Lanaya said something about him being—well, she didn't know, for certain--”

“Bad news,” Arethin gritted. She sighed and rubbed her face. “What else?”

“We must have a leader,” Cassandra said.

“A leader?” Arethin looked at her. “What do you mean? What has that to do with anything?”

Cassandra merely looked at her.

“You can't...you can't mean _me_?”

“Lavellan...we saw the mountain fall, and then you came back,” Cassandra ran a hand over her face. “If the people did not believe you to be chosen before, now they do.”

Arethin blinked at her, then her expression hardened. 

“Very well,” she growled. “You want me to steer this aravel? I will do it.” she let go of Solas' arm, but pain and fatigue made her knees buckle, and both he and Cassandra made a grab for her. She found herself supported by both of them. “I do not need to be _carried_ like a _fainting lady_ ,” she snarled.

Cassandra heaved a heavy sigh. “Lavellan...you dropped a mountain upon yourself. I believe some weakness is to be expected.”

Arethin glared first at her, then at Solas, then frowned, thinking. “I need to speak with everyone,” she said after a minute. “I am not deciding this by myself.” 

Cassandra nodded, and left to gather the others.

Arethin, remembering something important, turned to Solas, again grabbing his arm tightly. “Solas—that—Corypheus thing—it had—an artifact,” she said, struggling to explain what it was that she had seen. “It was linked to the mark on my hand, somehow. But it wasn't—it didn't look like the rest of him, it was different--”

“I could feel the influence of something...unique,” he said, gray eyes darting away from hers, brow furrowed in thought. “Just before the avalanche. It is possible that this artifact of which you speak might be responsible. What did it look like?”

“It was an orb,” she said. “Mostly plain. It was—funny, it was linked to the Fade somehow, like the mark...” she bit her lip. “Like the spell Alexius used on the loyal mages.”

“There are artifacts such as that,” he said. “Used by the ancient elvhen to work magic. If he has one of those...”

The blood drained from her face. “If that thing he uses is elvhen, and people learn—they will find some way to blame us.”

“Then we must ensure he can do little damage,” he said. 

There was a strange expression in his eyes that she could not quite place, but when she tried to inquire further about the orb, Cassandra and the others returned.

Cassandra had brought Lanaya, Fiona, Dorian, Vivienne, Mother Giselle, Leliana, Josephine, Barris, Varric, Iron Bull, Sera, and crammed them all into one tent. They all looked varying degrees of miserable. Vivienne's cheeks were windburnt, Varric and Iron Bull were both cut up, and Ser Barris was nursing a broken wrist. Sera's hands were bandaged, as she had sustained some frostbite in the flight from Haven, and she looked miserable and cold. 

Arethin looked around at all of them, meeting Lanaya's eyes for a moment. 

“Very well,” Arethin said, kneading her temples. “Does anyone have any ideas where we might go?”

Leliana shook her head. “We are too far from Orzammar to make for the Deep Roads,” she sighed. 

“If we went into Orlesian territory, we run the risk of running afoul of the civil war,” Barris pointed out. 

“Denerim?”

Fiona shook her head. “Too far away,” she said. “We could make for Denerim, of course, Alistair would shelter you, but...”

“But...?

Fiona's eyes flicked to Cassandra. 

Arethin sighed. “And what of the Clans?” she asked Lanaya. “Who is close?”

“No one,” Lanaya said. “Many went further north or to the east when the Breach opened.”

“Felassan gave us this map,” Josephine said. She held out a sheaf of damp and careworn parchment, which Arethin grabbed, glad that she had held onto it.

“To that...fortress he mentioned?”

Josephine nodded. “It is much closer than anywhere else,”

“Very true,” Arethin muttered, turning the parchment this way and that as if it could reveal something to her if she just looked at it in a different way. She looked at Lanaya. “Do you think this may be a trap?”

Lanaya narrowed her eyes.

“We can hardly do anything clinging to the mountainside like this.” Josephine pointed out.

“The source is not trustworthy,” Lanaya said. 

“And of course, a trickster would wish to play his tricks when people are vulnerable,” Arethin murmured.

“We have precious few options,” Cassandra said. “While we debate the matter, we continue to be in a vulnerable position.”

“Also true,” Arethin said. “Very well--how about a vote. Who wants to head to the fortress?”

“You should be the one to decide,” Mother Giselle spoke up for the first time. Leliana had brought her, but Arethin wasn't really sure why. “You claim that this is not your decision, but much weighs upon you, Herald. The people will look to you, not to all of us.”

Arethin glared at her. “It is _not_ my job to take over for a leader because your people did not want to do it themselves,” she snapped, and glowered at everyone in the room. “Surviving an avalanche is not a qualification for leadership.”

“Why else would you have survived, if not to lead us?” Giselle posited.

“I only returned because someone found me,” Arethin said. “That's luck, plain and simple.”

“You returned from the first rift, unharmed. You come back from the dragon, unharmed.” Giselle spread her hands. “They will look to you, not to the rest of us.”

Arethin shook her head. “Fine,” she bit off her words. “If you refuse to take responsibility for your people, then I will. Do not be disappointed if the results are not what you wanted.”

Giselle folded her sleeves into her habit and said no more. 

Arethin shook her head. “We can't go spreading that insanity about me being a Herald, by the way,” she said. 

“Why not?” Sera demanded. “You just said you were goin' to be the leader and all--”

“First off, because I am _not_ ,” she said. “Secondly, I can't see that going well for the Dalish or anyone else who doesn't follow Andraste--”

“If the Lady of Sorrows can convert a heathen Dalish, then everyone else must have no excuse,” Lanaya murmured.

“Exactly.”

“That is not the issue here,” Cassandra snapped. 

“I--” Arethin growled to herself. “ _Fine_. We'll take care of the issue of shelter first. If I hear anyone talking about providence or what have you, you won't like what happens next. Since we've decided I'm in charge, we're going to head for that fortress.”

Making the move was hard, and Arethin's bones and muscles constantly ached. She was exhausted and frequently had to be healed. Her left arm had almost been wrenched from the socket, and her shoulder screamed at her any time she moved to pick something up, so to her chagrin, someone else had to carry her things.

“I say I don't even want to be the leader, but I need someone else to carry my pack,” she confided in Solas at one time. “What a fine example I'm setting.”

“Doing things to care for an injury is not selfish, nor is it egotism,” Solas informed her. “Although you might be setting an example as a martyr.”

She glared at him.

“It is quite difficult to avoid the attentions of those who wish to worship you,” he said, almost apologetically. 

Arethin shook her head. 

It was another few days before Arethin met her savior, the young man called Cole. 

He popped up beside her while she walked, startling her terribly.

“Where did you come from?” she demanded, staring at him. He had seemed to appear from nowhere, and she'd not so much as heard a whisper of sound before he was just at her elbow.

“I was already here,” he said, staring at her with almost luminous blue eyes. “I helped find you.”

“You're Cole?”

Cole was a young man with the proportions of a scarecrow and straw-blond hair to match. His enormous, moon-blue eyes were set in a waxy-pale face, and he stared at her with a strange intensity before hiding his eyes underneath the broad brim of his hat.

“Well, thank you,” she said. “I don't know where I'd be unless you'd found me.”

“You would be dead.”

She tilted her head to the side. “That's true enough,” she agreed. She sensed something strange at the back of her head, as if a spirit or a demon were near. “How did you find me?” she asked.

“I heard you,” he said.

“Heard me?”

He shrugged and ducked his head further. “I hear people's pain and it calls back to me. I want to help.”

His form seemed almost to flicker in her gaze. “You...aren't quite human, are you?” she asked.

“Neither are you.”

“That isn't what I mean, Cole.”

He hunched his shoulders. 

“I appreciate that you're here to help,” she said slowly. “But I need to know where you come from.”

“The Spire.”

“The mage Tower?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a mage?”

“No?”

“Not a Templar, surely?”

“No.” Cole's lip curled. 

“Cole is a spirit,” Solas came up on Arethin's other side. 

“A spirit?” Arethin stared at him. Solas inclined his head. 

“His circumstances are...unique.”

“How so?”

“He doesn't know,” Cole said, his tone mournful. “No one does. Pharamond said I'm compassion, but he doesn't know for sure, either.”

“Thus, the unique circumstances,” Solas said, his tone an attempt at being comforting. 

“I see,” Arethin said. “Well, either way, I much appreciate the help, Cole.”

“Good. No one would have been happy if you'd died.”

Soon after Arethin met Cole, Cassandra approached her. Arethin was still cold to her, but Cassandra was persistent.

“You were brave,” Cassandra said. “You are brave. A braver woman I have never known.”

“Trying to flatter me, are you?”

“What? No!” Cassandra flushed. “Oh—I am only trying to--” she sighed. “I am sorry. For all that has been done to you. I know that will never change it. I would change it, had I only the means.”

Arethin looked at her, her expression hard. “Do you know what you are wishing?” she asked.

“Yes,” Cassandra nodded. “Your life has been very hard. I would do much to make it easier.”

Arethin's lip curled. “So you think that throwing me in a Tower and never letting me so much as see my family would be...easier?”

“No, that is not what I...” Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated.

“That is what you want for mages, isn't it?” 

“I wish for magic and mages to be _safe_ ,” Cassandra insisted. “The ruling was harsh—in some cases too harsh--”

Arethin shook her head. “That is utter nonsense. Your ruling killed innocents and children.”

“What would you have me do?” Cassandra demanded. “I wish for people to be safe—but I thought that our laws did that. I do not think such misery as you and the other mages have described is worth it. But what other paths are open to us? We can change what was established, make it better—or it can be torn asunder, with nothing left but chaos.”

Arethin sneered in disgust. “You still don't understand,” she snapped. “I haven't the time to teach you. Perhaps you might ask one of the Grand Enchanter's mages why they rebelled, and _listen_ to them.”

“They are not you,” Cassandra said.

Arethin blinked at her. “Why am I so different?”

“I—you have a different—point of view than many others,” Cassandra said, her eyes darting away from Arethin's.

Arethin raised her eyebrows. “I see. The others are not good enough, then?”

“No,” Cassandra sighed and gritted her teeth. “That is not it.”

“Then listen to them.” Arethin said. “Go ask Lanaya or the Dalish mages about it, if you don't care enough about the Circle mages to do so.”

“The Circle mages are—difficult,” Cassandra said. “They want things that we cannot give them.”

“Such as?” 

Cassandra pressed her lips into a hard line. 'They are used to being taken care of,” she said. “Coddled and protected.”

“And whose fault is that?” Arethin shook her head. “You can't force them under your wing and then blame them when that's all they know, Cassandra.”

“If they wish freedom, they must prove themselves worthy of it,” Cassandra argued.

“Why?”

“They are too dangerous not to.”

“Who says?”

“How is someone who can light a fire when angry not dangerous?”

“You can do that too, you just need tinder.”

Cassandra let out an angry huff of breath. “You know what I mean.”

“Cassandra, magic is no different from water or fire, but you don't blame either of them when someone drowns or burns. You don't lock up someone who knows how to build a hearth fire or how to divert a stream.” Arethin looked at her. “I am no different from any of the others.”

Cassandra shook her head. “You are,” she said. “Perhaps you do not see it, but you are.” at Arethin's dark look, she sighed. “Perhaps...there is a common ground to be found with the other mages,” she said at last. “Many of them did not ask for this war. Or any war.”

“No,” Arethin agreed. “No, they didn't.”

The castle was invisible until they crested the mountain, and then it was clear as day. It was built right into the side of the mountain. It was in clear disrepair, even from so far away, with half-collapsed roofs and walls. 

“It's very old,” Cole murmured from his place at Arethin's side. She jumped—any time he spoke, she had forgotten he was there. It was apparently simply something that happened to him, or that he made happen, he wasn't sure which.

As they crossed the bridge to get there, a warm breeze wafted from the gate.

Arethin frowned. It was cold on the mountain, snow six feet deep in places. They had been forced to break a trail through the snow to get to the bridge. 

They came through the gate, into a massive courtyard overgrown with trees and plants. A huge raspberry thicket obscured an area under the stairs, and ivy clambered up the stone walls. Some of the trees were so large, it was possible that they had been there for hundreds of years, and there was absolutely no snow anywhere to be seen. Instead, the ground was covered with soft grass or moss.

“What...?” Cassandra murmured, looking around.

“Weather spells, I should think,” Dorian examined one of the trees. “Someone was very intent on the cold not reaching this place.”

“Is it safe?” Josephine eyed a bush with some trepidation.

“I don't think we have much to worry about,” Dorian said with a shrug. “Traps usually look more enticing than this.”

“I have never heard of magic like this before.” Cassandra looked around, fascinated.

Arethin snorted, and Solas rolled his eyes. Lanaya just shook her head. 

“You haven't heard of it because Circles don't like to acknowledge magic that isn't battle or healing related,” Arethin said.

“An oversimplified understanding, Lavellan,” Vivienne sighed. She gently reached out and touched the branches of an apple tree. “Circles have little need for weather spells except in terms of strict theory.”

“You know of magic like this?” Cassandra asked.

“Of course,” Vivienne raised her eyebrows. “I am none too adept, but--”

Cassandra shook her head and pressed a hand to her mouth, clearly thinking hard.

“None of this is poisonous, as far as I can tell,” Arethin said. “And I do not feel any traps.” she glanced around, and all the mages nodded in agreement.

“I would suggest we not eat any of this,” Vivienne said, picking an apple from the tree and frowning at it. “We have no idea what properties the food might have, being subject to such old magic.”

“Very true,” Arethin agreed. 

On the other end of the courtyard there was a set of stairs that lead to an upper courtyard, also crowded with trees and brush. Some of the trees were so huge that they rose up almost to the top of the crumbling wall, and there were tall blackberry bushes here. 

“Some bastard really liked gardening,” Sera said. “Looks like a noble garden gone wild.”

“Don't eat anything,” Arethin reminded her, watching her eyeing one of the berry bushes.

“I wasn't!” she snapped, folding her arms. “'s all magic-ey and weird, anyway.”

On the upper courtyard there was another set of steps, these ones leading into the main keep.

Inside the keep, the front hall was huge, the ceiling vanishing high overhead and tall windows set into the far wall. It was clearly built to house a large number of people. The ragged remains of tapestries were on the walls, and there were remnants of rugs on the floor as well. There were doors leading to other rooms on the ground floor, and high overhead, a balcony ran along the inside wall. 

“'S nice,” Sera piped up, kicking at a fallen piece of stone. “For a dump, anyway.”

“We'll fix it up,” Dorian assured her. “And quite soon, I hope.” 

“It would have to be,” Vivienne said, eyeing some fallen debris with distaste. “This place is not yet livable.”

“Before we do anything, we must address the people,” Josephine came up beside Arethin. Poor Josephine's riding gown was soaking wet and ragged at the hem, and she looked very cold, but fortunately had no signs of frostbite. 

“Address them?” Arethin said, her eyes narrowed. “And tell them what, exactly?”

Josephine coughed, and shifted from foot to foot. “Many still consider you their leader, Lavellan. They will look to you.”

“They can look to themselves,” she said. 

“Lavellan--”

“Fine,” she growled, going outside. “I'll give them their leader.”

“Lavellan--” Josephine held out a hand, but Arethin brushed her off. 

“You might want to have waited a few minutes,” Dorian said. 

“It would not have waited,” Josephine hissed, and they all followed at Arethin's heels to see what she did.

Arethin strode out to the balcony. “They want me to tell them something,” she muttered, shaking her head as she surveyed the crowd gathered in the courtyard below. They were indeed majority human, as the Dalish and dwarven forces had taken up in the keep and on the walls, already getting to work “As they wish.”

“Lavellan...” Cassandra cautioned. 

“You gave this to me, you will let me do it,” Arethin hissed.

Cassandra looked dubious, but stepped back as Arethin stepped forward.

“Listen to me,” Arethin commanded, and the crowd began to quiet at last, looking up at her. “You who are survivors of Haven—survivors of many wars.” she looked down at them. “Many call me Herald, and proclaim me your leader.” she shook her head. “But I cannot—I _will not_ —be that Herald. I will be the hand of no god. It is a tyrant that you want, but you will not have,” when the crowd began to rumble, she magically amplified her voice to a roar. “In your fear and doubt, you turn to someone you do not even know, and hope that they will succeed where others have fallen. But I will not be that! I will not be your figurehead, your Lady of Sorrows!” she swept her gaze all around, noting the Dalish and dwarves in the crowd who stared up at her. 

“I would be no tyrant. I will be no burning lady, no Divine. I would have no conquering army, no one force to rule all. I wish an alliance, I wish cooperation, and I wish for what we all wish--peace, justice, to protect the world that our children will inherit.” she looked down at them. 

The crowd murmured to itself, unsure how to take this pronouncement. Some were angry, and began to shout, but their voices were drowned out by hers.

“You shall be saved,” she proclaimed. “But it shall not be in your manner, for you have already decided the manner in which it shall be. This world shall be better, in spite of your efforts. Be glad.”

She turned and walked away, and the crowd began to rumbled.

“That was...not the best speech to give,” Josephine said, looking worriedly at the crowd. 

“If you make me your figurehead, it won't end well. I won't be anyone's puppet, anyone's Divine, or anyone's _martyr_.” Arethin snapped. 

“No one was asking that you become any of those things,” Vivienne said.

“Except for all of those people screaming about the Maker choosing me,” Arethin snapped. “No—we need something else.”

"Something else?” Solas raised his eyebrows, intrigued. 

“You look like you already have an idea,” Varric said.

“Half of one,” Arethin said, starting to pace. “We create a group where many have voices instead of just one. Instead of one group trying to 'restore order' or take credit for doing something many people did—we should create a formal alliance. Orzammar and the Dalish and Ferelden are already allied together—perhaps we can create something similar.”

The others looked at each other. 

“A wise idea,” Lanaya said. “We cannot stop this Corypheus or anything else if we are not cooperating.”

“Exactly.”

“And who would be part of this...organization?” Vivienne asked. 

“The Coalition,” Arethin said immediately. “Orzammar. Ferelden. Antiva, Rivain—any power that would be friendly to us and would have a problem with Corypheus.”

“That...does make sense,” Dorian said, exchanging a look with Vivienne. “Maker knows that if the Inquisition or the Dalish or any one group start running around closing rifts and fighting with Venatori, someone will have a problem with it.”

“Someone will have a problem with it no matter what we do,” Cassandra pointed out.

Sera scrunched up her nose. “More big noble pricks,” she said, dismissive. “You can't make it better by just jammin' a bunch of big people together and hoping it'll turn out good.”

They decided to hold off on formalizing anything until they were more firmly established within the fortress. Little could be done until they at least were more settled and had some better communications, at any rate.


	10. The Sun Is Also A Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> felassan saves and/or ruins everything

At the end of the first day, everyone had to find a place to sleep. The fortress was large and far more comfortable than the mountain had been, so people wasted no time in erecting tents or staking out a place within the keep itself.

Arethin found a room near the top of the keep. No one else wanted it, so she took it, and she relished in the opportunity to be away from people for a bit.

The bedroom was large, still as of yet unfinished but definitely habitable. There was a door to a balcony that she did not yet trust, and a great deal of scattered debris that she would have to deal with at some point, but not now. Arethin put her bedroll on the wooden floor and began to settle herself in. 

“Lavellan.” 

The voice startled her, and Arethin surged to her feet, grabbing her staff and holding it out.

“Don't!”

It was Felassan who stood on evidently trustworthy balcony, his hands up.

“You!” Arethin didn't lower her staff. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?” she peered around him, and saw no ladder or any other way he could have gotten onto the balcony without climbing.

“I came to tell you something important.”

She narrowed her eyes, and he sighed. 

“Who do you think I am?” he asked.

“I don't know. The entire point is that you are someone who refuses to tell us who you are.”

“And that makes me so dangerous?”

“You have a wall around your dreams.” 

He smirked. “You _are_ well informed.”

“Why are you here?” she growled.

“I have come to give a peace offering,” he said. “From Fen'harel to the People.”

She stared at him. At length, she spoke. “You are not--”

“ _I_ am not Fen'harel,” he clarified. 

“Well, it's true, you don't much look like a wolf at the moment,” she said. “And if you are not him...?”

“I speak...on his behalf. After a fashion.”

She raised her eyebrows. “After a fashion.”

He didn't so much as blink. “The tale is a complicated one. I will tell you, if you will let me.”

“And why would one of Fen'harel's people want to tell me anything?”

“He—we—are not what you think,” Felassan said. “He is not the enemy that you believe him to be.”

Arethin still had not lowered her staff, and Felassan eyed it.

“A trickster naturally lies,” she told him.

He inclined his head. “So we're in a conundrum,” he spread his hands. “Will you at least listen to what I tell you?”

“Why should I? You have given me no reason.”

“This place was once his,” Felassan said.

She glanced away from him for the first time, looking around at the room she had claimed. “The castle?”

“Yes. A very long time ago, this place was his. It's yours now. You might have noticed, this place is no trap.”

“Not as of yet,” Arethin muttered, eyeing the walls with some suspicion. “This doesn't look like anything but a human-built castle.”

“I think quite a few people have used this place in the past,” Felassan explained. “But it was Fen'harel's before it was anyone else's. He built the foundations that we stand upon.”

“I did not realize that Fen'harel enjoyed building things so much.”

“Ah, well, you get old enough, and you start knowing a little of everything,” Felassan's tone was strangely wistful. 

She regarded him for a long time. “Very well,” she said at length. “You can tell me your story. But first...why come to me?'

“You have the mark.”

“So?”

“It's important,” Felassan said. “Old, old magic, very powerful, and the fact that you aren't dead just from holding it in your hand speaks to you being powerful as well.” he smirked. “And the way you steered that shemlen rabble and the rest amused me.”

“I see,” she lowered her staff, but kept her eyes on him. “Fine. Tell me your tale.”

“We must be quick, now,” he cautioned. “We haven't much time.”

“Then hurry.”

“First, you must understand that what the Dalish believe is...untrue,” Felassan snorted in some disdain. “Your stories and legends—half-remembered tales and things passed by word of mouth. Most of them wrong in some variety.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ah, yes, insults—just the thing that will make me listen to you.”

Felassan shook his head. “It is—it is not you I am angry at,” he admitted. “Not really. It isn't your fault what happened to you. I know that that is a belief, yes? The Creators will return when you prove your elves again?”

“That's one interpretation, yes.”

“Well, you don't need to do that. I wouldn't worry.” he began to pace, worrying at his lower lip. “Consider—even a trickster acts in self interest. Understand that as well. What trickster wants to play tricks in a world that's destroyed?”

“True,” Arethin said, tilting her head to one side. 

“So considering these things, consider what I say when I tell you that he has returned from Uthenera, and he wishes to help.” 

“For someone so helpful, he spends a lot of time not being it.”

“He wouldn't,” Felassan tugged at a strand of hair and glanced at the balcony, as if expecting someone to appear there. “He wants to help but...in the wrong way.”

“The wrong way?” 

“It's complicated. It's—he...” Felassan sighed. “Here. Something else to consider is that Fen'harel is an elf, like—well, more like me than like you, but—you get the idea.”

Arethin blinked. “So he is not a god.”

“Not even close. Not a god, or a spirit, or a demon. What he _is_ is a very, very powerful mage, such as you wouldn't see now.”

“And assuming that this is true, what does it matter?”

“So, he's...” Felassan sighed. “He's powerful, and intelligent, and very, very creative, but no less flawed than any other man. I—was privy to the general—to Fen'harel's plan.” Felassan ran his hands through his hair. 

“Yes?” Arethin leaned forward. “And what happened?”

“And I helped, as best I could. For a time.”

“For a time.”

“Then I met—well, do you know Briala?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I met her, and then your Coalition--”

“I know that too.”

“And I realized—I couldn't help him do what he wanted.” he looked away from her, staring out the open window. “Not in the same way.”

“Why not?” Arethin folded her arms. 

“His plan was too destructive,” Felassan said. “What he would do—part of it is something that's necessary either way, but the way he would do it is too violent. At first, I agreed with what he wanted—but now I see you and your people, and—there must be a different way.”

“And are you going to explain what this plan of his is...?'

“The Veil,” Felassan said. “It's not natural. It's artificial.”

Arethin scowled, not angry, but now more intrigued. “I've...heard that theory before. Go on, tell me about his plan.”

“So, it's an artificial construct, that didn't exist in Elvhenan. Fen'harel created it.”

“Why?”

“To stop the Evanuris from fighting. The Evanuris are--”

Arethin held up a hand. “I've seen some references to them. We—the Coalition—have been trying to sort propaganda from history, but it's rather difficult when we barely have a grasp on the language, let alone everything else.”

“And what do you know about them?” Felassan's expression was carefully blank, violet eyes gone flat. 

“As far as we can tell the Evanuris were god-kings, who took on the monikers of the Creators. Either that or, according to some other accounts, they were the Creators, or rather, elves who aspired to godhood. We're still arguing about all of that.”

Felassan raised his eyebrows. “Hm. Clever.”

“Cleverer than you expected from the Dalish?” Arethin rolled her eyes.

“Well—ah—yes,” he said. “To be frank. Most of the Dalish Clans I know are very set in their ways.”

“Well, so are the humans, and I don't see you complaining about them.”

Felassan smirked. “Well, da'len, they're all idiots. Elves—not necessarily.”

“How complimentary.” Arethin growled. “So. The Evanuris fought, and Fen'harel erected the Veil to stop them?”

Felassan nodded. “Yes. That's what I know, anyway—at the time I was more of a footsoldier.”

“And now?” 

“Everyone else is dead. So, here I am.”

“I see. And so he wants to take the Veil down now? Why?”

“It is—bad for the world,” Felassan said, violet eyes pensive. “It's rather hard to describe. Firstly it—well, it damaged the People and our creations, in too many ways to explain quickly. But overall the thing served its purpose, and he wants it gone.”

“I see. And what exactly is the issue with that?”

“He wants to do it in such a way that—well, manipulations of the Veil can manipulate time,” he said. “He wanted to unmake this world, and try and change his mistakes in the past.”

Arethin was struck with a sudden sense of deja vu, and she put her elbows on her knees. “I know the feeling,” she muttered.

“You do? Well, you'll have to tell me that story sometime.”

Not likely. “But you disagreed with him.”

Felassan nodded. “At first—when I first woke from Uthenera, I saw only the problems, and I felt the same way he did. Our people were—damaged, drained of magic and vitality, and even seem like Tranquil to the uneducated eye.”

“What?” Arethin exclaimed. “ _How_?”

“It's the Veil,” Felassan said. “Even with mages, it—well, it doesn't cut off your emotions like an actual Tranquil, but to someone not used to it, it's incredibly stifling.” he shuddered. “Your dreams are built wrong,” he said. “I—I'm not an expert on the Fade, but there's something about it that's wrong now, and any elf that went into Uthenera before the Veil and came out after it was put into place would feel it. He would be better able to explain than I could,” he said, seeing her start to ask.

She narrowed her eyes. “You said you changed your mind.”

He nodded. “After more time spent with your people. You are not—so different from us as I thought. I think that if the Veil were taken down, but time not altered, you would become more like us—more like how you are meant to be. Your magic and vitality restored, and the world would be right again.”

“And who are you to tell us what we are meant to be?” Arethin demanded, bristling. 

“You are only the way you are because of an accident,” Felassan informed her. “Do your Dalish not wish the old ways to be restored?”

“What would you know of us? You hardly deign to accept us as people.”

He sighed and shook his head. “To one like me you are—our many great-grandchildren, and we have done you a terrible wrong. Do you see? You suffer, and die, and it is our fault.”

“Not only yours.”

“No, humans have much of the blame, it's true,” he shrugged. “But we hurt your people—our _children_. We must set it right.”

“I see,” Arethin said, her eyes narrowed. “And Fen'harel...?”

“It's...complicated.”

“Make it easy.” Arethin gave him a nasty smirk. “Pretend I'm a simple, uneducated Dalish.”

Felassan sighed and leaned back. “He woke up and everyone he knew was dead, and all his people were—wrong, and wounded, and dying,” he said. “It happened to me, too, but _I_ don't have the power to level mountains, little sister. What would you do to gain your family back if they were gone?” 

The blood in Arethin's veins turned to ice.

“A very great deal,” she muttered. 

“And if you had to kill someone to do it...?”

“I would kill _anyone_.”

For the chance to see her son, her Elladen again, she would do anything. She could only imagine how a man who had earned the moniker of god might do when motivated in such a way. 

He inclined his head. “And there you are.”

“I see,” Arethin nodded. “So you have come to me because you agree with his goals—but find him too dangerous.”

“Absolutely. I don't think it would work—and I don't think he should.”

“You do not want your people back?”

“I do,” he said, looking away from her. “Oh, little sister.” he was quiet for a moment, then he looked back at her. “But we...I don't think we can. And I don't want to destroy this world so that maybe the old one will be restored.”

“Why could you not do it?” she asked. “Time magic exists. Why could you not?”

He shrugged. “We would have to go back thousands of years, to a specific point, change the past in a specific way, and that would take more power than either of us has.” his violet eyes flashed. “I know what he and I have lost. And we both want it back so badly, but this—it would not be fair to you. Not to our children. You deserve better than the world that was made for you.”

“I see.” she looked at him steadily. “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

Felassan leaned forward. “I can tell you where Fen'harel is.”

“Oh.” Arethin blinked, her mind going fuzzy for a moment. “And if you tell me where he is, what must I give you?”

“Promise you won't kill him,” Felassan said. “Because if you tried, he'd kill you, and then he'd tear down the Veil, and then everyone would be dead. I don't want that. Oh, and I'd like to not be a prisoner, also.”

“There is a very large problem with that.”

“You have no reason to believe me. I know.” Felassan sighed. “Why would you believe someone who carried the word of your trickster god?” there was a bitter edge to his words.

“Precisely,” Arethin said. 

“You have said yourself, you have seen ruins in the eluvian network--”

“Ruins which we must weigh against reality, and how precious little we know of Elvhenan,” Arethin said. “We have very little way of telling which is real and which is not. So anything that says that Fen'harel was benevolent could be something that a cult who worshipped him spread. On the other hand, our ideas of those we call the Creators could be entirely wrong.” she laced her fingers together.

“They are.”

“But you admit to being an agent of Fen'harel,” Arethin reminded him, and Felassan's shoulders slumped.

“And your worry is not necessarily that Fen'harel is the trickster, it's that you truly do not know enough to know whether he is or not,” Felassan said. “I see your dilemma.” he closed his eyes and shook his head. “I had thought—so many of the Dalish seemed _willfully_ blind to the truth--”

“Yes, because we're supposed to suss out the nuance of a culture a thousand years gone, all while barely having the resources to keep ourselves alive and out of slavery.” Arethin's voice was very dry. “A culture which, by the way, Tevinter went a long way towards eradicating completely. Yes. We are so willfully ignorant. Our lack of understanding is absolutely our fault, and not the fault of any external factors.” she leaned in, and Felassan winced. “Completely.”

“My apologies,” Felassan muttered.

“Apology accepted. It does not help our dilemma, however.”

“I suppose it doesn't,” Felassan hummed to himself. They remained silent for a few moments.

“Why are you so protective of Fen'harel?” Arethin asked at length. “Surely he is capable of looking after his own skin.”

“Well, that is part of the problem,” Felassan admitted. “I am sure he can. But you might be hurt, or you might hurt him, and I don't want either of those things to happen.”

“How could we hurt him? You just told me how powerful he is.”

“For one, he's an elf, just as you are, and not a god,” Felassan said. “He's subjected to most of the same weaknesses and failings all other elves are.”

“Most?”

“Well, most elves his age? Probably won't age.” he grinned. “Same with me.”

“How fortunate for you.”

“Only by a certain margin. So, he's just as weak or as strong as another elf,” he said. “And now, he has no army, no fortress, no allies who would stay allies once they knew who he was, unless I can convince you otherwise.”

“I see your point. But why are you so invested? You said you were only a footsoldier.”

“I was. But Fen'harel is also the freer of slaves,” Felassan's back straightened.

“Ah,” Arethin felt a pang of shame go through her. “And he freed you?”

“His army did. But I've seen him on a battlefield, as well,” Felassan's gaze went wistful. “Oh, you would not believe it.”

“I think I might.”

“You? Perhaps. But yes, he and his people freed me. Funny thing? I served Falon'din.”

Arethin blinked. “But your vallaslin are to--”

“Mythal, I know.”

“Why--?”

“That is a very, very long story,” Felassan sighed. “But I am devoted to no one.”

“Except him.”

“You could say that.”

“You are. You're defending him.”

“Ah. I suppose that...doesn't exactly look good for me.”

“Not really, no.”

Felassan grimaced. “I...he will be very unhappy I told you this,” he said. “But we are running out of time. If you meet him, you will be...disinclined to kill him. Please, just talk, and save killing each other till you've killed Corypheus, at least. I'm sure you could manage that.”

“I cannot make any promises for anyone apart from myself,” she reminded him.

“I know.” Felassan sighed and drummed his fingers on his chair. “Alright, we are becoming very short on time,” he said. “If I don't give you who he is soon, he'll leave, and you'll know who he is but you will never find him again if he doesn't want you to. Do not attack him, promise me that, and I'll tell you who he is, and you can keep an eye on him. Fair?”

Arethin gave him a long look. 

“Fine,” she said at last. “If you make me regret this, I'm going to skin you and leave you for ants, understand me?”

“Of course,” he nodded. “You've already met him. He's downstairs.” Felassan gritted his teeth. “A certain bald elf who helped you with your mark?”

Arethin stared at him. “Felassan, if you are lying to me...”

“I am absolutely not.”  
]  
She grabbed his arm and tore downstairs. She kicked the door to the great hall open.

“ _Where is Solas_?” she bellowed.

“He's probably on his way out,” Felassan said. “He--”

“I am, actually, right here,” Solas strode up to them, looking extremely cross. “Felassan.”

“Ah--” Felassan gave a somewhat strained laugh. “Good evening.” 

Solas said something that sounded like Dalish, but wasn't. Felassan looked sheepish and answered back.

“Enough!” Arethin said. She jabbed a finger at Solas. “You. Explain. Right now.”

“Explain what?” Solas sighed. “What did Felassan tell you?”

“You're--” Arethin looked around, her eyes narrowed. Others began to crowd in as well. She spotted Keeper Lanaya. 

“Keeper,” she yanked Felassan forward. “Keep an eye on this one.”

Lanaya stared at Felassan, then back to Arethin. “Where did he come from?” she asked.

“Not now,” Arethin waved a hand. “Or rather—you can explain,” she pointed at Felassan. She looked around at everyone. “Solas,” she snapped. “You come with me.”

Felassan muttered something to Solas in their shared language again, and Solas gave him a dirty look. 

“If you wish,” Solas said. 

“I do wish. Come.”

They left Felassan to try and explain himself to the others, and for privacy's sake, Arethin and Solas returned to her room. 

Once they were alone together, she crossed her arms and looked at him.

“What did Felassan say to you?” he asked, tilting his head up. 

“He said that you are Fen'harel,” she said. 

He sighed and closed his eyes, and muttered something insulting that had 'Felassan' in it.

“Can I assume this is why you don't like the Dalish?” Arethin asked, raising her eyebrows.

“One reason.”

“Then tell me why I shouldn't throw you in prison.”

“And how much good would you believe that to be?”

Arethin sighed. “Probably not much.” 

He looked at her. “I am here, and have not left,” he said. “And likewise, you did not attack. So it seems I am somewhat worthy of a modicum of trust.”

“Maybe. I'm still trying to decide.”

Solas pinched the bridge of his nose. “What would you have me tell you?”

“What are you planning? Felassan told me a story, but I want to hear what you have to say.”

“I do only what I must.”

“And what is it that you must do?” she narrowed her eyes at him. “I want no falsehoods, and no half-truths. Tell me what you plan to do.”

He considered her for a long time. “I wish to destroy the Veil,” he said. “And restore the Elvhenan that was.”

Arethin tilted her head back. “He said we should stop you doing that. The whole reason he's here is because he thinks you shouldn't be doing it.” 

Solas looked away, his brow furrowed. “He has expressed...misgivings,” he murmured. 

“Then perhaps that means you shouldn't do it.” 

“Well, it will be a great deal more difficult _now_.”

“That's true.”

They stood, considering each other, neither really knowing what to say.

“It was my fault,” Solas said at last. 

“What was?”

“I constructed the Veil.” he looked away. “I destroyed Elvhenan. All that came after is my doing.”

“Felassan said the same.”

“Is it not true?”

“Only mostly true.”

Solas chuckled. “Your honesty is refreshing.”

“Do you spend a great deal of time around dishonest people?” she hummed to herself. “Or perhaps liars merely accumulate other liars.”

“That is entirely possible. I never directly lied to you, however.”

Arethin sighed. “Yes, yes...we never asked, and all. Although I think 'are you Fen'harel' is a question that wouldn't likely come up in conversation.”

“And thus, the lack of a need to explicitly lie.”

“Very true.” she peered at him. “Felassan said to bring back Elvhenan, you would need to use magic that affects time, like Alexius did.”

“Yes. Although it is quite likely that at this point, you would work to stop me.”

"Of course I would. I rather enjoy living.” she ran a hand over her head. “Tell me why.”

“I could, as you say, lie.”

“Of course. But tell me something to justify yourself. Then I shall decide if you're lying or not.”

Solas sighed and looked up, out an overhead window. “It was a mistake, to do what I did. I want to undo it.”

“At our expense? I don't believe that's the only reason.” her jaw was clenched.

“You don't believe me the vicious monster of your legends?” his lip curled at mentioning Dalish legends.

“I believe that if you were like that, it wouldn't make sense to bring Elvhenan back if you destroyed it in the first place, so why bother even to lie about it?” Arethin said. “And I believe that if you are how you say you are, you have more reasons than repairing a mistake.”

“You went to the future with Dorian and Vivienne. You undid that world.”

“It isn't the same.”

“Is it not?”

“The only reason that world existed was because I wasn't there to close the Breach,” she reminded him. “You came the slow way to this world. It was no accident that brought you here.” 

Solas sighed.

“So,” she said. “Justify yourself. Felassan tried to do it. Now I want to hear you before I decide what to do next.” 

“I _killed_ my people,” Solas said, gray eyes flashing. “Perhaps I did not intend to, but it was still my actions that brought their deaths. I cannot let it stand.”

Arethin's mouth thinned into a hard line. “I see,” she said. “And we are not your people?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“There are a thousand years between your people and mine. Even without—all that has been done—we would be different. All that I knew— _everything_ —is gone.”

“I suppose.” Arethin looked away from him, considering her next words. “Think very carefully before you answer my next question,” she said. “And do not lie.”

“Very well.”

“You said you had children, once.”

“I did.” Solas inclined his head. “They all died,” he said. “All of them. I have not found any. Not even their graves.”

“And your friends? The rest of your family?”

“Gone.”

Arethin's hands went cold. “Was that before or after the Veil?”

“My eldest died in battle, in one of the Evanuris' wars,” his lips twisted. “And then, others died as well. Then they killed Mythal.”

“Mythal?” she blinked. “How could they kill her?”

“A betrayal. It is...a long tale, one too long to explain now. She is not wholly dead.”

“How can someone not be wholly dead?”

“The Evanuris have their ways. So many died that something had to be done to stop them. But in doing so, I destroyed everything.” his eyes took on a faraway look. 

“Well, you destroyed everything you know. But we're still here.” her tone was almost imploring. Perhaps all was not as he thought it was.

He chuckled. “You make it sound simpler than it is.”

“Is that so?”

“My people lived for thousands of years,” Solas said. “Our children die within a hundred. The destruction is not total, but must be remedied.”

“Killing all of us wouldn't be fixing the problem.”

“I know,” he said. “I—want there to be another way. But do you see? If I do nothing, I destroyed my world for yours. Or, I can destroy your world for mine. There is no avenue I can take.”

“Maybe there is.” she raised her marked hand and held it out to him. “After all,” she said. “You don't know all of what this does. Nor do I.”

“It is meant to be mine,” he said. “If left alone, it will kill you.”

“Yours?”

“The orb Corypheus carries is mine.”

“Ah.” she narrowed her eyes. “Why does he have it?”

“A mistake.”

“What kind of mistake?”

“The kind of mistake one makes when profoundly disoriented and immediately accosted by a foul-smelling darkspawn,” Solas said, his tone becoming somewhat defensive. “I could not use it—I was too weak. Corypheus could feel the magic, and offered to open it.”

“And you just _gave_ it to him?” Arethin demanded, outraged. “Are you insane?”

He was quiet for a long time. “What would you do for your son, Arethin?”

Arethin's heart leapt into her throat. “Don't use my son for your argument.” she snapped.

“Then think what I would do for my own sons and daughters.”

She was silent, her stomach churning. “I know what it's like to lose family,” she said. “And I know—I know—I would do _anything_ for my son.”

“And you also know I could be lying.”

“I know that, too,” she agreed. “And I might regret this in the future, when you've done your evil plan and played us all like puppets--” she sighed. “But I have this,” she held up her marked hand. “So I have something over you. And...” she sighed. “You stayed. Felassan was sure you would run.”

“I thought...” Solas sighed. “I knew you would at least listen to me.”

“And I did. And here we are.”

“You can stop it,” he said. “Before things go too far. Before--” he cut himself off. “You asked what I wanted.”

“I did.”

“I want them back,” Solas said. “That—I had loftier goals, once. Now I don't care. I just want them back.”

“I know, my friend,” she said. “Anyone would. I know. But I don't know what to do about that.” she sighed. “So. What are we going to do?”

“Technically, this is my fortress,” Solas pointed out. “Do with that what you will.”

“We'll talk to Lanaya,” Arethin said. “Then the others.”


	11. The Possibility Of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's time to play international politics! 
> 
> (the other entertainment for this evening: 'we have fen'harel just chilling in the office downstairs and i don't know what to do about it')

Lanaya ran a hand over her face. “I knew something like this would happen soon,” she groaned. “I just _knew_ it.”

They had gathered everyone in the room they designated the war room. It was the middle of the night, and everyone was exhausted. Josephine, Cassandra, Barris and Dorian all looked somewhat confused as Arethin explained the situation, and Varric had to quietly explain the mythology of Fen'harel to them. Oddly, everyone else had a passing knowledge of the concept, even the other humans and Iron Bull. 

“You knew Fen'harel would come back, and then give us a castle for our trouble?” Arethin asked.

“Well, not that specific, Lavellan,” Lanaya said. She glared at Solas. “And what do we do about you?”

“Felassan made me promise not to kill him,” Arethin said.

“And that would be unlikely to occur,” Solas said. 

“Yes? Aren't you much weaker than you were?”

Solas gave a small, dangerous smile. “That does not mean you could kill me.”

“That is not reassuring.”

“My apologies.”

“Bet I could,” Sera piped up. She had not stopped glaring at Solas the whole time, awoken from her sleep and forced to confront not one, but _two_ ancient elves as she was. “Could do it right now.” 

“I would not suggest you try,” Solas informed her. 

“Stop it, both of you,” Arethin said. “If we told the Coalition about him, someone would want to kill him,” 

“Not Clan Eirethelu,” Lanaya pointed out.

“No, probably not. Good point.”

“Wait,” Cassandra said, staring from Solas, to Lanaya, to Arethin. “We are simply...accepting this? He claims to be a figure from your legends--”

“Actually, it was Felassan who informed me,” Arethin said first, pointing at said Felassan. 

Cassandra shook her head. “Whoever claims it. Why would we take that as the truth?”

“Who would lie about that?” Lanaya demanded. “It would be too ridiculous, and too dangerous a lie just to throw about lightly.”

“And he's not really a legend,” Varric pointed out. “More...someone who has a lot of rumors said about him.” 

“But this does not make sense,” Cassandra insisted. “People cannot live for as long as you say--”

“Our people lived for thousands of years,” Solas gestured to himself and Felassan. “It is possible that modern elves such as the Dalish have the potential to do that. It is not impossible at all.”

“But--” Cassandra exchanged a worried look with Leliana. “If you are real, then--”

“Then perhaps the Dalish have a better handle on what is going on than the Chantry?” Arethin said, raising her eyebrows. 

Sera rolled her eyes. 

“After all,” Arethin said, ignoring Sera. “Solas is an elf, and features heavily in Dalish mythology. We are the only ones who have studied Elvhen history at all, and not simply decided that elves were heathens and savages and ignored it.”

“Or tried to destroy it,” Lanaya added. 

“I can see how this might be a disturbing development, then,” Arethin said. 

Now more people were definitely looking unhappy. Sera glared at the table, Barris shifted from foot to foot, Varric ran a hand through his hair, and overall the mood grew quite a bit more awkward. 

“In any case,” Arethin said. “The Dalish have also been expecting Fen'harel to appear in some way or another for some time now. That would be the white wolf that has been appearing or mentioned in people's dreams,” 

Vivienne and Dorian glanced at each other, surprised. 

“I'd wondered what that meant,” Dorian said. 

“It's been happening for years,” Lanaya said. 

“So could someone take advantage of your fears?” Vivienne asked.

“And do what, get locked in a prison or murdered?” Arethin asked. “It isn't like claiming to be Mythal or Elgar'nan—no one who knows anything about Fen'harel would be inclined to listen to him.”

“He wouldn't even have said anything if I hadn't come around,” Felassan said, and Solas glared at him. 

Lanaya sighed. “Well...maybe I should meet with the other Keepers, and see what they have to say on the matter.”

“What about the ambassadors from the Alienage?” Arethin said. “Ambassador Briala was Felassan's friend. I bet she'd be interested in hearing about this.”

“She would, at that,” Lanaya hummed to herself.

“You have another problem, besides Corypheus,” Solas said.

“What's that?”

“Even if you defeat him, the Veil will crumble on its own,” Solas said. “It was not made to stand forever.”

“That is ridiculous,” Cassandra said. She glanced around at the mages. “Is it not?” she was pale, looking worried.

Arethin and Lanaya looked at each other. Dorian and Vivienne exchanged a similar concerned look. 

“That's no lie,” Lanaya said. “Zathrian said—” she shook her head, and looked at Solas. “That, at least, is true,” she admitted. “We'd hoped that the problem wasn't so widespread, but...”

“What do you mean?” Iron Bull asked. 

“I hadn't realized—but that makes sense,” Dorian muttered. 

“What does?”

“Veil damage grows over time,” Dorian said. “Weakened sections of the Veil become weaker.”

“And if it is true that the Veil is artificial,” Vivienne rolled her eyes, but her brow was pinched in worry. “Then it is like a dam that has had no one to tend to it for a very long time. We surely must repair it.”

“No,” both Felassan and Solas spoke at once, and they all stared at them.

“Why not?” Sera demanded. “On the other side's where all the demons and shite are, yeah?” 

Solas shook his head. “Repairing it would only be temporary, and might even make the problems worse,” he said. “If a mistake was made, it could cut you off from all magic, even the slight magic you have now. It could make everyone Tranquil. The only reason I could even make it in the first place was because of how much magic there was in the physical world, almost none of which is here now. You cannot permanently repair it, nor does anyone have the expertise to do so.”

“And of course you wouldn't repair it,” Arethin said. “And you would not tell us how to fix it.”

“No, I would not.”

“Then we're right back where we started,” Dorian said. “Tell us, what exactly do you suggest we do?”

Solas shook his head. “Whether I affect the Veil or not, it will deteriorate by itself,” he said. “And whatever I may do does not compare to that damage.” 

“Why not?” Arethin asked.

“It will take hundreds of years,” Solas explained. “It it like a limb bound too long with a tourniquet. Your world, or the Fade, will become sick, and it is likely nothing will survive that.”

“Nothing at all?”

He shook his head. "Your world is already suffering--if the Veil continues in its current state, thus everything will continue to deteriorate."

“Oh.” 

“This could all just be a lie,” Vivienne insisted. “The Veil damage can be repaired in local areas—the aim could simply be to spread chaos, as a trickster is wont to do.”

“I need not spread chaos—the way you approach magic will do that on its own,” Solas said with a scowl. “Have you not considered that your magic is already illogical and confused?”

“What are you talking about?” Arethin asked.

“Can't you tell?” Felassan said, and now it was his and Solas' turn to look confused. “Every spell you make—all of you—causes tiny tears in the Veil any time you cast. You're walking Veil damage, no matter what you do. Why did you think the Veil was so thin wherever there was a Circle?”

Solas nodded. “Magic rejects the Veil,” he said. “And the Veil, in turn, caused damage to magic.”

They all looked at him for a long moment.

“Why did you think that Seeker and Templar abilities work the way they do?” he asked, when they were silent. “They reinforce reality. But magic is _already_ real.”

Arethin shook her head. “One problem at a time,” she said. “You two, we must deal with first.”

“How?” Cassandra asked. “If what you say is true—there is little we can really do.”

“Oh, I'm sure we'd think of something,” Dorian said.

Arethin merely looked at Solas and Felassan. “Will the two of you stay here?” she asked.

Solas inclined his head. Felassan opened his mouth, and Solas elbowed him in the ribs.

“...yes,” Felassan said, wincing. 

“Very good. Now stay here, until we work out if you are telling the truth.”

“I really don't--” Felassan started, but Solas glared at him. “...fine.” 

Arethin rubbed her forehead. “Now, we just need to think of what to tell the others,” she sighed. The Dalish presented a unique problem, and neither Arethin or Lanaya wanted to keep the fact they had two ancient elves living in the Keep a secret. This was especially important since Solas seemed to be the culmination of all the peculiar omen dreams everyone had been having as of late.

So it was that Arethin and Lanaya gathered the Dalish who had come with them together. This was a conversation best had away from non-Dalish.

“We have...” Lanaya hesitated. “A problem.”

Everyone waited expectantly.

Arethin decided to cut to the chase.

“Do you all recall the dreams about wolves?” she asked the crowd. “The omens?”

General murmurs of assent.

“Now we know why we had those.” she swallowed for a moment before saying. “Fen'harel is real, more real than any of us would have liked to think, and he is here. This is his house.”

The crowd was in uproar. It was only after several minutes that Lanaya got the crowd under control. 

“No, we are not killing him,” Arethin said. Several in the crowd grumbled. “We are not, because it would likely be very difficult. Secondly, for whatever reason, he saved my life, and helped us close the Breach.”

“He must be doing it as a trick!” called a woman in red vallaslin. 

“What if it's not?” called another hunter, this one with no vallaslin at all. “We've all seen the ruins--”

An argument burst out, and quickly everyone in the crowd was talking at once. Arethin sighed and shook her head. 

“We'll never get anywhere like this,” she muttered. 

“Perhaps we can call a vote,” Lanaya said. 

They did so. A little less than half of them voted to immediately try and kill him, but the majority either were curious to see why he was here, or thought that killing him wouldn't end well.

“So, we are all agreed,” Arethin said. “We're to watch and guard, but _not_ kill.”

Several of the Dalish looked unhappy that they had been outvoted, but everyone agreed.

“Fortunately for you,” Arethin told Solas later. “We decided that you are not to be killed.”

“Fortunate indeed,” Solas said quietly, raising his eyebrows. “Then what is it that you _have_ you decided?”

“Well, we won't let you out of our sight, that goes without saying,” she informed him. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “We can't exactly stop you, though.”

“I said I would stay, and I will,” he said.

“Now,” she looked at him. “What to do about you?”

“I believe you came up with a solution.”

“A temporary one,” she reminded him. “I'm not sure what to do in the long term. It's entirely possible you could just wait for all of us to die and then do what you want anyway.”

“And if I did something after you died, this would be a concern for you?”

“I suppose technically, it would not,” Arethin said after a pause. “Similarly if I never existed in the first place.” she hummed. “You said the Veil poisoned our world.”

“It has,” he explained. “Whether I have a say or not, if the Veil remains standing, your world will eventually die.”

“I see.” she rubbed her chin, thinking.

“And then, what shall you do?”

“I shall remove the Veil,” Arethin said. “There must be a way to get rid of it without undoing this world.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, reluctance in his face. 

She looked at him for a long moment, considering. “Think on this,” she said. “I shall try to remove the Veil myself and repair the world. If I do this, then the People will be undamaged again, and your mistake will be fixed.”

“That is...possible,” he agreed. 

“If I cannot do this, then you might try your way.” she said. She looked at him, her expression softening in spite of herself. “I cannot allow you to destroy our world, even for your family,” she said. “I understand. I would try the same thing if I could. I think that if we were in each other's places, you would not want me to either. But if I cannot save the world from poison, nothing is lost by you trying.”

He was quiet for a long time. 

“Very well,” he said. “We will see what comes of this.” 

After the business with Felassan and Solas was dealt with, there was no time to even take a breath, as they had to think on how to construct their Alliance. Cassandra, Leliana, and Barris were all firmly convinced the Inquisition should be at the head, but without agreement from Arethin, they could not do much about that. Dorian and Vivienne were visibly leery of forming any long-lasting alliances with anyone outside of the Inquisition and the Chantry, and to make matters more complex, Fiona and Lanaya were both as adamant as Arethin that the Chantry and the Inquisition not have a strong say in matters. They decided that in order to come to a better agreement, the most organizations possible had to be represented. 

“We must have ambassadors from the Coalition and Orzammar, at the very least,” Lanaya said. "We have assisted in closing the Breach, thus we deserve a say in further matters."

“Can you not be the Dalish representative?” Fiona asked.

Lanaya shook her head. “I need to go back to my Clan,” she said. “Someone with more diplomatic experience would be better.”

Arethin nodded. “Ferelden as well should be represented, also, because of their closeness to the Coalition,” she said. “And the mages, or course.”

“Someone must represent the Chantry,” Cassandra said. 

“You are certain you will not be Inquisitor?” Leliana asked Arethin again. 

“No,” Arethin said, glaring at her. 

“But--”

“ _No_.”

“I think it makes more sense if the one with the mark is more impartial,” Josephine said. “If you are to gain access to all areas affected by rifts, you cannot be seen to have too strong a tie to any one government or group.”

Arethin and Lanaya glanced at each other.

“That makes sense,” Fiona said, grudgingly. 

Barris nodded. “Being Inquisitor would allow you entry to many places, more than simply being a Dalish envoy,” he pointed out. 

Arethin let out a hard breath through her nose. “True,” she said. “But that cuts out other apostate mages, Dalish, dwarves, and even the Avvar or the Chasind if I need to get to their lands.”

“Hm,” Barris stroked his chin. “A good point.” he and Josephine exchanged a look.

“Someone must be Inquisitor, either way,” Cassandra said. “If there is no united front for the true Chantry, the Grand Cleric gains more power.” 

That gave Arethin pause. The Grand Cleric had come into power without the Coalition noticing—even Keeper Merrill, who had lived in Kirkwall and seen Elthina's rise to power, had not realized until it was too late. The woman clearly should not be underestimated. That was the best argument for becoming the Inquisitor that Arethin had heard thus far.

Then she glanced at Cassandra.

“Why can you not be the Inquisitor?” she asked.

Cassandra blinked at her.

“Leliana is your spymaster, Barris controls Inquisition troops,” Arethin continued. “You're faithful to the Chantry. You were the one who established the Inquisition in the first place, and you were loyal to Justinia.”

“I...suppose,” Cassandra said, her brow furrowed. “But I am not the one with the Mark--”

“You are also not the Dalish mage who has been speaking this entire time of how foolish she thinks the entire Maker business is,” Vivienne cut in. “I think the rest of the Chantry will respond more favorably to someone who follows basic Andrastian tenets.”

“Exactly, Madame de Fer,” Arethin agreed.

“That is not so bad a notion,” Leliana said, her face lighting up.

“I do not think the other clerics would be very receptive,” Cassandra said stiffly, her shoulders tense.

“I think it's a good idea,” Barris piped up. “The only other possible candidate we have doesn't want to.”

Cassandra sighed. “I still do not think I am the best option,” she said. “I do not know if I am capable.”

“As if having a magical mark on my hand automatically makes me capable?” Arethin scoffed. “So you're doubtful. That's good. That means you'll think a bit before acting, which I think the Chantry could use more of.” she looked Cassandra in the face. “This is your area of expertise, not mine.” 

Cassandra looked like she wasn't sure whether to be offended or obscurely flattered. 

“If that is settled, Dorian and I will represent the loyal mages, of course,” Vivienne said. “We will stay allied to the Inquisition.” 

“And I the free mages,” Fiona gave Vivienne a nasty look. “We will ally to Lady Lavellan and whatever she constructs.”

“We will contact Ferelden,” Josephine said. “I am certain that King Alistair will send an ambassador as quick as possible.” she paused. “What about Solas?” 

“What about him?” Arethin asked.

“If he is to be believed, this place was once his.” 

“And he remains here.”

Josephine raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment further.

There were to be several core councilmembers, those who held a state office or had some similar rank. In addition to the councilmembers, there were others who they called upon for assistance in other roles. Sera and Iron Bull, for example, could provide both support and intelligence in some capacity. 

Arethin still didn't entirely trust Bull, and nor did anyone else, but he was the closest thing to information on the Qunari that they had. 

Sera, for her part, wasn't very pleased about her involvement.

She stuck out her tongue at Arethin upon hearing the news. “I don't want to be sittin' on councils and all that,” she declared. 

“Then it's a very good thing you're an advisor,” Arethin said. “You know, make sure we remember little people and everything.”

Sera perked up at that. “Ey, fair point!” she said. “Keep your breeches where they should be, like.”

“Exactly.” 

King Alistair was contacted, and he assured them that a Ferelden ambassador would be there within a few weeks. 

Lanaya would organize for an eluvian to be brought to them, as the place was both too isolated and too important to go without.

An eluvian was delivered to Skyhold two weeks after Lanaya left, to be placed in the great hall, and through it came the Dalish, Alienage and Orzammar ambassadors. 

Ambassador Yara came from Clan Tuivrodach, a Clan who had fought in the Blight. Vhelan Mordan was a warrior from Kal'hirol, who had been living there since it had been reclaimed after the Blight.

“So,” Yara said when she met Arethin. “I understand that, apparently, Fen'harel is not only as real as you or I, but he's...here. Living here.”

Arethin nodded. “That he is. We couldn't find any other solution.”

“Does that not worry you?”

“If we tried to kill him, we'd likely fail,” Arethin pointed out. “I strongly suspect he's only staying here because he wants to, but at least we have an eye on him.”

Ambassador Briala arrived after Yara and Vhelan. 

“A very nice fortress you have,” Briala said with approval, looking around the great hall, which was still in repairs, but looking much better than it had been. 

“Thank you,” Arethin said. “I quite like it as well.”

After making her introductions, Briala went seeking Felassan.

She did not have to seek far. He found her quite quickly.

“Briala--” he started, apprehensive at her expression. She shook her head and closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms tightly around him. 

“Oh,” he murmured, stiff for a moment, then relaxing. He ran his hand over her hair, still cropped short. “Oh.”

For a moment they were both quiet. Briala pressed her face to his shoulder and held him like she was afraid he would vanish if she let him go.

At last, they separated.

“Do not _ever_ vanish like that again, hahren,” Briala instructed him. “I thought you were dead. I thought—I don't know what I thought.”

“I am perfectly alright, da'len,” he assured her. “I merely had to get ahead of everyone. And getting ahead of both Fen'harel and the People is no small feat.”

“And what exactly is the business with Fen'harel?” she raised her eyebrows at him. “Is he truly a large wolf, like in your stories? I must confess, I saw nothing of the sort.”

“Well,” Felassan said. “He isn't at the moment. Here,” he looped his arm in hers. “Come, I will show you the fortress, and I can explain what I have been doing.”

Bann Teagan, the Ferelden ambassador, was the last to arrive.

He knew Leliana and Fiona already, which was a benefit. 

At last, when everyone was settled, they held an open meeting in the great hall.

At the head of the throne room, instead of a throne, they placed a wide table, with room enough for everyone. Arethin sat in the middle. 

As the council was settled, the crowd gathered in the hall with baited breath. Finally, Arethin spoke. 

“We have constructed our Alliance,” she said. “And here we have brought together a council of many peoples of Thedas.”

“I am Dalish, but since my actions have served so many of Thedas and I have done things that many different groups have wanted done, I cannot truly represent only the Dalish,” Arethin said. “Ambassador Yara, of Clan Tuivrodach, to represent the Dalish Coalition.” she pointed to the ambassador, who inclined her head. 

“Ambassador Briala, of Halam'shiral, to represent the Alienages of the Coalition.” Briala merely gazed down at the crowd, her expression carefully neutral. “On behalf of Orzammar, Vhelan Mordan.” Vhelan smiled.

“Inquisitor Cassandra Pentaghast, here on behalf of the Inquistion,” there was a smattering of applause, as people knew Cassandra and her efforts, and Cassandra gave a stiff nod.

“Bann Teagan, to represent the needs of Ferelden.” another round of scattered applause.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona, the leader of the free mages of Thedas.” now murmurs went through the hall, and several of the mages sent up cheers. Fiona flashed a tiny smile. 

“First Enchanter Vivienne de Fer, the leader of the loyal mages of Thedas.” Vivienne gave a polite smile to a room filled with whispers.

“And I, Arethin Lavellan, am mediator and speaker,” Arethin said. “For now. Someone more suiting may be appointed to my place if the need arises.”

They moved out of the throne room to a more private council chamber, and in addition to the ambassadors, various advisers joined them. The only two absent were Solas and Felassan, whom no one still quite trusted enough to take any advice from. 

“Now,” Arethin said to her council. “What do we need to do next?”

“We need to find Corypheus,” Cassandra said immediately. “That is the most pressing threat.”

“Solas knows some, but not overmuch,” Arethin explained. “Corypheus can use that elvhen artifact, the orb, but not very well, which is why he's being so destructive.”

“Why does he have that, anyway?” Iron Bull asked. 

Arethin shrugged. “Another thing that's Solas' fault, actually, but as far as I can tell, that was more of a genuine accident than anything,” she said. “That orb was originally his, and apparently, the moment Solas awoke from Uthenera, Corypheus came to see what all the fuss was about.”

“What, did he just _give_ the thing to Corypheytits?” Sera demanded, scowling.

“I think it was more a case of stealing,” Arethin clarified, deciding that the true matter was a bit more complex than they needed to get into. Solas claimed fault, but upon hearing the details, Arethin personally thought it was a bit more like taking something from a man delirious with fever. 

And her true feelings, that she understood his actions intimately, no matter how destructive, would certainly not be welcome. 

“So the elf caused all this?” Teagan demanded. 

“Only in the sense that someone completely insensible was in possession of a magical artifact,” Arethin waved a hand. “Honestly, considering what he said, we're lucky he didn't blow up whatever Creator-forsaken forest he woke up in. This might be the best-case scenario.”

“How is the Breach the best case scenario?” Teagan asked. 

“Do you want a man that powerful running around with an unsound mind?” Arethin asked. “He could have quite easily been as monstrous as our worst legends, or corrupted with Blight and been a second Corypheus, or any number of things. Either way, he's the one we're keeping an eye on, so now we have just to find Corypheus, deal with _him_ , and _then_ work out the business with the Fade.”

The others all looked at each other, mixed expressions on their faces, before Varric spoke up. 

“Hawke—Champion Hawke—might know some about Corypheus,” Varric said. 

“More than you?” Cassandra asked, raising her eyebrows. 

Varric shrugged. “I was in a Kirkwall prison for a year and a half,” he said. “She's probably investigated more, her and Merrill—Keeper Merrill.”

“Keeper Merrill has looked into the darkspawn,” said Ambassador Yara. “She hasn't found very much.”

“We've searched for the Wardens all across Orlais,” Briala said. “There aren't any, not even out in their bastions at Adamant or the Western Approach.”

“None near the Approach?” Leliana raised her eyebrows. “That's strange.” 

“Is it possible you could find Warden-Commander Surana?” Cassandra asked Leliana. “She might know.”

Leliana shook her head. “I am unsure of where she is," she said. "I believe I might be able to locate her, given some time, but it might take a while."

“Could King Alistair be of any help?” Arethin asked Fiona and Teagan. 

“He likely will not know where she is either,” Fiona said. “When I last spoke to him, he mentioned the strange Calling, and was doing his best to ignore it. It is possible that we could follow the Calling to Corypheus, but I do not think that that would be a wise idea without more information.”

“Tracking the Venatori might be of more use, and be less dangerous,” Dorian pointed out. 

Leliana nodded. “We've been keeping an eye on their movements,” she said. “But have found nothing conclusive. As for the Warden situation...There is one Warden left in Ferelden who are not King Alistair,” Leliana said. “That is Warden Oghren, who is the last remaining Warden at Vigil's Keep.”

“Why haven't they contacted us before now?” Arethin asked.

“He wished to stay away from any Chantry involvement,” Leliana explained. “Which is understandable, considering the circumstances. However, King Alistair notified him, and asked him if he could help investigate."

"What did he say?"

“He wishes to remain and guard Vigil's Keep. The Keep is right over a Deep Roads entrance, and the settlement of Kal-Hirol has declared that they feel much safer if Vigil's Keep is occupied by at least one Warden."

Arethin scowled. "He refused to help?"

"Oghren has been at the Keep for years." Leliana frowned. "He has been guarding the Deep Roads entrance in the area, and helping Kal-Hirol defend itself. He has declared he does not know much. I believe our best sources of information lie in Lady Hawke or in the Warden-Commander."

"Then we'll find them," Arethin said. 

Later, when the meeting was over, Arethin walked the battlements of the keep. They provided a breathtaking view, showing a dizzying drop into the valley far below. Everything outside Skyhold was covered in snow, without the slightest bit of green anywhere.

“Lavellan?”

Arethin looked around. Cassandra had come to join her on the battlements. “Do you need something?” she asked. 

Cassandra shook her head. 

“What is it, then?”

“This is all so...strange.”

Arethin nodded. “It is indeed. Anything in particular?”

“Aside from all of it?”

Arethin cracked an unexpected smile. “Yes, aside from that.”

“Well...” Cassandra sighed. “Solas was unexpected, if I could expect anything.”

“He is, at that.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I had thought that Dalish legends were merely...legends,” she said. “Fancies.”

Arethin narrowed her eyes at her. “Did you indeed?”

“And if they had some truth to them—well, I could not expect one of your myths to walk into our midst without us even noticing.”

“Ah—well, you are not the only one who did not expect that.” Arethin admitted. “None of us expected Fen'harel to be—the way Solas is, either.”

“What did you expect?”

“A giant wolf. There aren't any likenesses of Fen'harel as an elf, not anywhere.” Arethin narrowed her eyes. “At least, we always thought there were not.”

“I see.” Cassandra said. “I had never thought that those legends held any weight,” she said. “But if they do...where does that leave the Maker? They cannot both be right, can they?”

“My people would mostly say no,” Arethin said. “And now, they would say even if everything Solas says is true, we are still more in the right than you are.” she shrugged and looked away. 

“Perhaps,” Cassandra murmured. “But—if you are right, and we are wrong, then what has the Chantry been doing all this time?” she shook her head. “If what Solas says about the Veil is true—if magic is as natural as the air—what was any of it for? The Exalted Marches, the Circles--”

“I couldn't say,” Arethin informed her. “I have always thought it all quite pointless myself.”

Cassandra looked down at her hands. 

“And you—you denied the role of Inquisitor,” Cassandra said. “We thought you brought to us by providence, but you refuse anything to do with the Chantry.”

“Yes, I do.” 

“Then where does that leave us?” Cassandra asked, biting her lip. “If the Maker is true—if everything we have believed is true—then you are the Herald, and you refuse us, except for this alliance.”

“And what would that mean?”

“I suppose that it would mean we have gone very wrong, somewhere,” Cassandra said. She looked up at the sky. "If the Maker's Herald refuses to join with us...then we are the ones in the wrong."

“I suppose it would mean that. But I tell you, as I have before, Andraste never guided me anywhere or told me anything.”

“Which is the other option,” Cassandra said, still not looking at Arethin. “That we are not merely wrong in the eyes of the Maker. That there _is_ no Maker.”

“Cassandra, I can't give you an answer,” Arethin said.

“I know.” Cassandra heaved a sigh. “Leliana would love an answer as well. She does not show it, but she has been...tried...by these events. Varric as well.”

“Varric?” Arethin blinked. She had hardly thought on Varric at all lately, and she had not realized that he was devout. 

“He is faithful, though he would not show it.”

“Interesting,” Arethin leaned on the battlement.

“There is...one other thing,” Cassandra said.

“Yes?”

“Solas—is he truly the cause of the Breach? Did he give that artifact to Corypheus?”

“I said so, didn't I?”

“You also said it was an accident.”

Arethin pursed her lips. “Apparently he woke up, Corypheus sensed the magic somehow, and pretty much immediately came to him. He couldn't get the artifact to work, but Corypheus might have been able to, so he offered to help.”

“Because Corypheus appears very trustworthy, I see.” Cassandra's voice was dry as paper.

“That's the part that's confusing, and makes me think it really was an accident."

Cassandra didn't look convinced. “Why would he relinquish such an artifact?” she asked. “Surely it makes more sense to try and make it work without handing it over to someone less than trustworthy.”

“Exactly. That's why I think it was an accident. Who would do that? Solas hardly gives up anything about himself, even the most innocuous things, so I hardly think he'd give something that important to someone he didn't know...”

“Unless there were mitigating factors.”

Arethin nodded. “That's the real issue with him, I suppose,” she said. “He makes mistakes, the same as the rest of us—but they are much further reaching. It's no wonder...” she trailed off. 

“No wonder what?”

She shook her head. “Never mind. We've an eye on him now, anyway.”

All the others were mostly too busy to have a conversation about anything other than work. However, this didn't mean conversations about the current circumstances didn't happen. The next time Sera and Arethin encountered each other outside of something business related was when they almost walked into each other outside the little tavern that had sprung up near the wall. “Oh,” Sera made a face. “It's you.”

“Indeed it is.” Arethin raised her eyebrows. “Is something the matter? I haven't seen you for a while.”

Sera shrugged.

“Sera?”

“Ugh. This is weird,” Sera kicked at the ground. “This is so weird.”

“What is?” Arethin asked. “Specifically.”

“Specifically?' Sera exclaimed. “Nothin' to get specific about! Everything is weird! Coryphenus—and weird demony arsehole just—living in the Keep--”

“Do you mean Solas?”

“Yeah!”

“He's not a demon.”

Sera shuddered. “What's the difference? He's old, and weird, and an arsehole.”

“Well, that is true.”

Sera peered at her, letting out a cautious laugh. “Well, s'pose you kinda have your head on straight, if you think that.”

“Of course I do,” Arethin said. “When do I not?”

Sera rolled her eyes. “Uh, most of the time?” 

Arethin folded her arms. “Is this a problem?”

“Problem?” Sera raised her eyebrows. “Is there a problem? 'course there's a friggin' problem! Can't get away from being elfy ever!” she snarled. “That's the friggin' problem! All this happened 'cos of him--'cos you elfy elves were _right_ , and some huge wolf bastard was runnin' around and mucking it up for everyone!”

“I suppose,” Arethin said. “A lot of the Dalish aren't very happy about it either, you know.”

“But—that's _worse_!” Sera exclaimed. “See—if he was just normal, I mean, magey and weird, but like—just a person, it'd be fine,” she rubbed her forehead. “I mean—he'd still be a right prick, see, but fine.”

“Well, fine in that, we wouldn't have an immensely powerful mage who could kill us all just sitting in an office in our keep, yes,” Arethin agreed. “That's true.” 

Sera glared at her. “But—he knows all about that elfy stuff, how _grand_ we were and all that,” she made a face of revulsion. “He knows about all of it. He was _there_! And his friggin' house burned down or whatever and now he's here—and he's not makin' it up, all that shite elfy elves talk about was _real_. Really real, more real than—than Andraste and all that. And the friggin' magister was bad enough!” she threw up her hands, exasperated. “It's _all_ real! None of it's just—it's like there's nothing normal anymore!”

“Sera--”

Sera continued, worrying at her fingernails. “And magic—the world's supposed to be full of magic and everythin', and it's his fault anything was normal anyway, but it's not even—he says he made the world sick, like he poisoned it or something, but it's just—it's just normal, and I--”

“Sera,” Arethin put a hand on her shoulder. “Take a deep breath.”

Sera glanced up at her, gray eyes worried. 

“Now first of all,” Arethin said. “We're not exactly going to take Solas' word on everything he claims. That's why I'm making him stay here.”

“You're not really making him do anything,” Sera pointed out.

“No, but he knows I would be quite unhappy if he left, and for some reason, he seems to value my opinion,” she shrugged. “So, we can't be sure if everything he says is the truth, or it is the way he thinks it is. Alright?”

Sera nodded, brow furrowed.

“Secondly—I really don't know how I can make you feel any better about things not being normal. As far as the Dalish are aware, there was a time when all elves had magic, so what we have now isn't normal.”

“Who says you're right?” Sera demanded.

“Lots of people say we're not,” Arethin acquiesced. “But at the same time, no one apart from Solas and Felassan has any better explanation than us that fits elvhen history before humans, and I think we already established that we're not going to take the two of them at their word.” 

Sera snorted. “What does it matter what we used to be like?” she asked, folding her arms and looking away. “Doesn't much help us now, does it?”

Arethin considered Sera for a while. “If a city had water that was always fouled, and had been so for as long as anyone could remember, but had once been clean, would it not be important to restore it to what it was?” she asked. “Would it not be vital to know that the water had once been clean, and was not inherently poisoned? Would cleaning it not help the people who lived there?”

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Magic isn't water,” she said.

“No? How so?”

“Well—there's no demons in water, is there?”

“We might only have the demon problem because of the Veil,” Arethin said. “We can't know.”

Sera growled and turned away from her. 

“Sera,” Arethin heaved a sigh. 

“Why are you always so calm about friggin' everything?” Sera demanded, glaring at her over her shoulder. “Baldy turns out to be a giant wolf who's—I dunno, really bad for elfy elves, there's a huge magister runnin' around and trying to kill everything, and everything might be dying! The whole _world_ —it just might be poisoned, or sick, and we never even knew till friggin' Solas comes swanning in here--” 

“Sera,” Arethin snapped. “I know this isn't exactly normal. I am very well aware of that.” 

“Then why--”

“My life isn't normal, Sera. It just isn't. And I can't focus on what normal is when I'm too busy making sure we don't all die. Alright?” she spread her hands. “That's it.” 

Sera's eyes were drawn to the mark on Arethin's left hand. “S'pose things aren't really...alright for you,” she said reluctantly. “It's just--” she shook her head. “Never mind.” she waved a hand. “I'll—give you some arrows or whatever. Maybe that'll help make things not so...weird.”

“It might do, Sera,” Arethin agreed. “It's nice to have some people around here who realize this is all insane,” she gave Sera a wan smile. “Most of us have already been living with absolute insanity so long no one notices when it gets worse. For goodness' sake—the only thing close to a normal mage we even know is Fiona.”

Sera managed a laugh. “I guess Dorian and Vivvy aren't real...normal, even for you people and all,” she said. 

“And that's on top of everything else.”


	12. The Place Where There Is No Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she's never been up to any good

They had only been at Skyhold for three months when Grand Cleric Elthina, or Divine Themistoclea, as she called herself, sent them a missive. 

The messenger himself had caused an uproar, a man in shining Templar armor. They almost refused to let him through the gate, until he called that he came from the Divine. Then the guards brought Arethin. 

“My lady,” the Templar bowed before Arethin. “Divine Themistoclea has seen that you have closed the Breach, and that you are indeed worthy of her consideration.”

“How kind of her,” Arethin murmured. “So, what is it she wishes of me?”

“She wishes to meet you, of course,” he said. 

“Why?”

“You are the savior. You healed the wound in the sky. Surely you are the chosen of Andraste.” the Templar looked up at her. “And if Her Holiness decrees it, so shall it be.”

Arethin looked at him for a long time. “The Council must speak on this,” she said. “Do not leave. We will return with a message.”

“This is a trap,” Cassandra declared. 

Arethin had brought everyone together that she could think of, even rounding up Felassan and Solas. This problem needed the most minds on it that they had.

“It sure smells like a trap,” Bull agreed. 

“Perhaps she simply wants to heal the animosity between us,” Josephine suggested. The Dalish ambassador, Yara, laughed aloud at that. 

“Do you honestly think that's likely in the slightest?” she asked.

“It is...a possibility,” Josephine shrugged helplessly.

“If it is a trap, what is the purpose?” Solas asked. “Considering her behavior in the past, I find it unlikely that she would simply wish to kill you.”

“Why do you think that?” Arethin wanted to know. 

“She has a penchant for playing games, does she not?”

Leliana nodded. “Indeed she does. And she changed her mind quickly enough,” she said. A thought struck her. “Perhaps she wishes to imprison you, and use you to her own ends,” she said. 

“How would she go about doing that?” Arethin asked, blinking. “And why?”

“That makes sense,” Barris said, his tone dark. “If she had you, it's possible she could use the Herald of Andraste rumor to his advantage--”

“She could claim that you repented your ways, and we would no longer have any power.” Cassandra exclaimed. 

Arethin shook her head. “That sounds far more complex than simply killing me.”

“Not necessarily,” Josephine said. “The Chantry already suffers from how many people are fighting within it—using your image could be extremely useful to her. Our own organization is young, filled with many people who do not agree with you or your methods.”

“If she had you, we couldn't risk fighting her, or else she might kill you,” Iron Bull brought up. “It's a tactic to try and avoid martyrs. If she killed you, your people might just decide you're Andraste after all.” 

Sera nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Lots of little people get pretty bent out of shape about dead heroes. Lots of them also believe whatever the Divine says—cos they don't know _not_ to believe her. She'd be talkin' about all sorts of stuff they don't really care about—but if you were dead, then they'd have a reason to care.”

“But if we don't meet her, she could claim that we are heretics,” Cassandra said, biting her fingernail. “We would lose all hope of reuniting the Chantry.” 

“But do you really wish to?” Ambassador Yara asked.

“The turmoil within the Chantry has been disastrous,” Bann Teagan pointed out. “Destructive from the beginning. We should try and repair some of that destruction.”

“You should at least see what she wants,” Ambassador Vhelan, the Orzammar representative, said. 

“But we don't know what kind of trap she has laid,” Arethin argued. 

“Then bring people who can fight,” Vhelan shook her head. “You'll have problems either way. At least if you go, you'll know what she wants.”

“You could send a proxy--” Leliana pointed out.

“No,” Arethin said. “The proxy might get hurt.” she shook her head. “I'll go,” Arethin decided. “This woman has been dogging me and the rest of us since this began. I would at least like to know what she wants.”

“This is foolish,” Josephine said with a frown.

Arethin nodded. “I”m sure it is. Where would we meet?”

“Somewhere neutral,” Leliana said. “Many Seeker and Templar strongholds are in Ferelden, but those are out of the question, of course.” she hummed to herself. “Therinfold Redoubt should work...”

“I'll bring some people along, too,” Arethin said. “Madame de Fer--”

“Darling, she would detest me,” Vivienne said with a chilly smile. 

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. I defied her Lambert many times.”

Fiona snorted, but did not disagree. “I suggest you bring no mages at all.”

“Cassandra?”

“I daresay she would dislike me as well,” Cassandra said. “But I will come.” 

Arethin looked around the room, and her eyes landed on Barris. “Ser Barris?”

Barris nodded. "I should be there also.”

Arethin surveyed the room, and sighed. “And most of the rest of you will cause problems as well,” she said. “Sera—why don't you come, also, and see if your Friends can help. I imagine they have no great love of Elthina?”

Sera nodded. “Most of them don't like her,” she agreed. “The ones who know who she is, anyway.”

Arethin returned to the Templar. 

“We will meet your mistress at Therinfold Redoubt,” Arethin told him, carefully avoiding using any of the woman's titles. “So she will not have to come here, and we will not have to go to her.”

“Of course,” the Templar bowed his head. 

Arethin took Cassandra, Ser Barris, and Sera with her, and they were accompanied by several of Leliana's people as well as some of the soldiers the Inquisition had managed to recruit. Everyone else stayed behind, as most of them might be considered an aggressor. Arethin disliked being the only mage, 

The eluvian opened to a ruin some days' ride from Therinfold Redoubt, and they made the trip in as quick a time as was possible. 

Therinfold Redoubt was a large hold, once a fortress of the Seekers, now contested and abandoned. The Seekers had been scattered to the winds when the war had begun, and even Cassandra had no idea what happened to all of them.

When Arethin's company arrived, no one else was yet there, so they waited. Elthina would be there within several days, at least, and Arethin took the time to set many ward and alarm spells so that they would know when she got there.

The Dalish knew many ways of fighting Templars and Seekers both. Arethin had made a particular effort to learn them, so her staff was weighted and solid, and she knew how to fight without magic very well. 

They were all nervous, anticipating the worst. 

After three days, down the path came an entourage of Templars, with one woman in red robes at the front, riding a white horse. 

“There she is,” Cassandra growled. 

The three of them came to greet her, flanked by their own soldiers. 

The woman—she must have been Elthina—looked down at them, her expression utterly serene. 

She got off her horse. One of the Templars raised a hand, as if to stop her, but she glanced at him and he lowered it again. 

She wore the red and white robes of the Divine, and was of medium height. Her gaze swept all of them, and landed on Arethin. She smiled. 

“And here you are,” she said. “The chosen of Andraste herself.” she looked at Arethin's companions, and her entourage. “Seeker Pentaghast,” she inclined her head in Cassandra's direction. “And...Ser Barris, I believe?”

Ser Barris only gave a nod. Cassandra merely stared coldly back at her. 

Elthina's eyes flicked across the faces of the other soldiers and paused on Sera, but she said nothing else.

“Why did you wish us to meet?” Arethin asked, wanting no preamble. 

“I would not have this animosity between us,” Elthina said, sorrow passing over her face. “This was is a tragedy for all.”

“You are the one who instigated it,” Cassandra hissed, and Barris put a hand on her shoulder. 

Elthina was not moved. “The Maker alone guides me,” she said, her voice placid. “And he has guided me to you.”

“And?” Arethin said. “What is it you want?” 

“I wish to be allies, of course,” Elthina's serene smile did not waver. 

“And what would we possibly have to gain from that?” 

“It was your scheming that split the Chantry in half,” Cassandra snapped. 

Elthina did not respond to the jibe. “You, of course, would have the friendship and allegiance of Orlais, and all of those who worship the Maker,” she said. 

“Why would we need them?” Arethin asked, raising an eyebrow. “And how would a Dalish mage even gain that in the first place, word of the Divine or no?” 

“You cannot turn down allies when a threat such as Corypheus stalks the land.” they must have looked surprised, because Elthina added “Many of my own Templars and Seekers left me to join his army. I know of him well enough.”

“And what of the second problem? That I am a mage—a Dalish mage—and you and yours have tried to kill the mages. It is of your own doing that the fighting began between the Circle and the Templars.”

“That was not of the Chantry's work,” Elthina said with a sad shake of her head. “A misguided apostate sparked the rebellion. You are surely of the Maker's children, and clearly Andraste's chosen, despite your magic and your more savage heritage.” 

Cassandra bristled, and Sera curled her lip in revulsion, but Arethin stayed neutral, despite the coldness creeping up her spine.

“And if we were allies,” Arethin said, her voice soft. “What would you wish of me?”

“Your Alliance is a step in the correct direction,” Elthina said. “Working to promote peace is always a benefit. Yet there are too many who could corrupt your intent. We would ask that the Chantry—the true Chantry, not the Inquisition—have a seat on your council, and Orlais as well--”

“Orlais does not have so much as a ruler,” Cassandra snapped. “They are in the midst of a civil war. What good would that do?”

“--and that you reinstate the Circle,” Elthina finished. “The Grand Enchanter and her rebellious followers cannot be allowed to continue on their path.” 

“And what of my people?” Arethin asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Of course, the Dalish would be allowed to go as they pleased,” Elthina said. “But this is not their business. Your people graciously give your mages to the Templars, as any wise people do. Apart from that, they and the dwarves have little stake in this.”

Arethin stared at her. 

“No,” she said. “We could not ally with one such as you—and certainly not on those terms.”

For the first time, a flicker of anger crossed Elthina's face. “You are Andraste's chosen,” she said. “You cannot turn the true Chantry aside.”

“You are no true Divine,” Cassandra snapped. “You are no more chosen by the Maker than I am.” 

“If you turn us aside, you will regret it,” Elthina promised, her dark eyes stormy. “You will be guided to the Maker, one way or another.” 

“You cannot guide by force,” Barris spoke up. “You of all people must understand this.”

“I do not force,” Elthina said, her mouth pulling downwards. “I merely instruct, and explain consequences. And I tell you, Herald, the consequences will be grave if you turn this aside.”

“And what will those consequences be?” Arethin stepped forward. “Will you set your army upon us? A bare hundred Templars? Perhaps will you call upon the might of Orlais, and their broken army? Will you call an Exalted March?”

“If it comes to that,” Elthina said. 

“Then you will face what we have—the Dalish, the dwarves, Ferelden, the Inquisition—and other things you could not dream of. We do not deal in things we cannot see, Grand Cleric, and we do not deal in empty threats. You are the one who chased away her allies, and the Alliance has merely taken them all in.” 

“The Dalish thought they could stand against the Chantry once before, and so did Ferelden,” Elthina hissed. “Can you do so again?” 

“Perhaps,” Arethin stepped back. “Perhaps not. But in the past, we stood alone. Now, we stand together.” hesitating for only a moment, she said “We have the Elvhen of old at our right hand, those who walked this land like giants. What do you have? A liar's promise, and petty human stories.” she shook her head. “We seek to save this world, Grand Cleric. If you wish to help us, do as you will. If you do not...”

She let the threat hang in the air. 

“This is not the land of your myths any longer, Herald,” the Grand Cleric said, her eyes as hard as steel. “This is the land of the Maker.”

“Is that so?” Arethin raised her eyebrows. “I have seen with my own eyes Corypheus. Is he a being of the Maker?” she tilted her head to one side. 

“A test, of course,” Elthina's expression was pure poison. “A way to divide loyal from disloyal.”

“Then you have already failed, have you not? For we seek to fight him, and you wish to undermine our efforts.”

“Of course not,” Elthina's expression smoothed over. “You misunderstand me. All that we do, we do in the name of peace.” 

“Is that so?” Arethin raised her eyebrows.

“I suppose that is what you call what happened in Kirkwall,” Cassandra growled. 

Elthina gave Cassandra a measuring look. “It seems that you are not intent on cooperation,” she said with a sad sigh. 

“Perhaps if you were more flexible in your terms,” Barris suggested, his tone measured and smooth. “After all, the Alliance is composed of many disparate groups. It takes a delicate approach to balance all of them.”

Elthina raised one eyebrow. “I do not think it appropriate for the Chantry to be working with mages who are not under control, and people who openly defy the Maker,” she said. “And I do not think your Inquisition is acting in correspondance with the Chant.” she looked them all over. “I gave my offer as a show of good faith,” she said. “But I see you are not willing to work with the Chantry just yet. This is disappointing, but such is the Maker's will.”

“I have yet to see evidence of the Maker,” Arethin said, a biting edge to her voice. “And I have yet to see any evidence of your goodwill, Grand Cleric.”

“Hm,” Elthina looked at her, her expression unreadable. “Indeed. I daresay we shall have to leave it at that.”

She left, and they left soon after.

“That could have gone better,” Barris murmured.

“It could also have gone worse,” Arethin said. 

“Yes. It could have.” Barris pursed his lips. “We must watch her, my lady.”

“I was not suggesting we do anything else,” Arethin said, her tone clipped.

Barris shook his head. “Of course, I simply...”

“What?”

He was quiet for a long moment. At last he said “If anything was keeping me tied to the Templars any longer, that woman would drive me away.”

“How so?” Arethin said, looking at him with a wary expression. 

“Have you heard the tales of the Gallows?”

“Yes.” of course she had.

“Elthina was the Cleric who presided over Kirkwall. She knew every detail of what occurred in that city—including all that the Templars did.”

“And did nothing. Of course.”

“No, not simply that,” Barris let out a hard breath. “She knew—and she...manipulated.”

“Manipulated?”

“She had been colluding with Lambert from the beginning,” Cassandra explained. “The state of the Kirkwall Circle was due to her.”

“She intentionally made things worse,” Barris said. “Meredith, as I understand it, became infected with red lyrium many years ago, before it was quarantined. Elthina did nothing. Apart from that, she continued to inflame relations between the First Enchanter and Meredith--”

“Ah,” Arethin nodded. “That I know.”

Orsino had been quite thorough when explaining to the Coalition what had happened.

"So the business in Kirkwall was her doing?”

Barris nodded. “It was.”

When they returned to Skyhold, repairs were well underway. Several architects from Orzammar had arrived and were assisting in rebuilding it. All had been quiet while they were away. 

Arethin convened the council.

“What can Elthina do?” Arethin asked. 

“At the moment? Little,” Josephine said. “However, if she was to gather some of the undecided Orlesian nobles, or turn more pious peasantry against us...” 

Arethin pursed her lips. “And what about us?” she asked. “What options do we have?”

“Well...” Josephine sighed. “Our resources are mostly focused upon closing rifts.” 

“I say we just get her out of the way,” Ambassador Yara waved a hand. “She just causes trouble and no one wants her.”

“I agree,” Ambassador Vhelan said. 

Bann Teagan nodded, and Cassandra seemed to agree.

“She has committed acts of war against almost all of our nations and organizations,” Fiona said. “We must get rid of her.”

“And what will happen if we do this?" Barris said, his quiet voice carrying across the room. “Removing her with no plan will only create a vacuum of power.” 

“Exactly,” Josephine nodded. “She leads the remnants of the Chantry, however much we want to deny that fact! She has the loyalty of both Empress Celene and General Dubois--”

“How did she manage that little trick?” Yara asked. “Didn't she pit them against one another?”

“She claims to take no side,” Josephine rubbed her temples. “But that she will legitimize whoever holds the throne. That is very compelling. The Orlesian army is very powerful, and if they are turned against us--”

Vhelan snorted. 

Josephine glared at her. “If they are turned against us, we will have that much more to worry about.”

“I feel that Corypheus is the larger threat,” Arethin said. “He aims to destroy the world entirely.”

“But we must have a world to live in when this is over,” Cassandra pointed out. “We cannot go forward without a plan.”

“Corypheus is the largest influence, and the one that is the most dangerous.” Vivienne agreed. 

“We will focus on Corypheus and the rifts,” Arethin said. “We can deal with Elthina and the other political problems, but as a secondary issue. We must remove Corypheus and take care of the most dangerous problems first.” 

“We do not know where Corypheus is currently,” Leliana said. “We have been searching, but have found little evidence of him.”

“And what of Venatori activity?” Arethin asked. “Can that not help us find him?”

“The Venatori, as far as I've been able to tell, are largely focused on acquiring magical artifacts for Corypheus,” Vivienne explained. “While trapped in Alexius' spell, Dorian and I heard and discovered many of the Venatori plans. They were all focused on gaining power, not on gaining a military advantage.”

“Alright, then what about Red Templars?” Arethin asked. “Those were the bulk of the forces in the attack against Haven.”

“It does stand to reason they would be Corypheus' military force,” Bann Teagan said, his expression thoughtful.

There were some areas that could use help with the rifts, but since the Breach had been closed, many of the rifts had closed on their own. Some places in Redcliffe still needed help, as other areas in Ferelden. 

After some days of closing the most serious rifts, Arethin noticed a pain in her hand that refused to go away. After some time of trying to ignore it, she began to worry that something was seriously wrong.

She had to see Solas. She had been trying to avoid him before now. She could not trust him, though she wanted to, and she wasn't sure how to think about that. However, he was the only one who knew anything about the mark. Even Felassan had pointed her to Solas. 

“The mark is spreading, but very slowly,” Solas informed her, a line between his brows as he examined her hand.

“Is it going to be a problem?”

He tilted her hand down, and she felt a soothing rush of magic go through her. The ache lessened, then vanished, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Not for some time,” he said. “And I can help, somewhat. But this is not something a mortal is meant to carry.”

“And if I were immortal...?”

“An academic question, at this point,” he told her, raising his eyebrows. “If the Veil were to fall, and if it restored the correct lifespan to the elves living now, then yes, it is likely that this would no longer hurt you.”

“Why does it matter how old I can be?”

“Age in elves is connected to magic,” he said. “Generally, the more magic one has, the longer you will live. Have you noticed that elves with magic live longer than those without?”

“I hadn't made a study of it but...well, I'm not sure. I don't think so...” she frowned.

“Hm. Then the question remains academic. The mark will eventually kill you if left untreated or unamputated--”

“Amputated?” she snatched her arm away from him.

“There is no need to remove your hand,” he said calmly. “Not now, and perhaps there will not be. Part of it depends on the Veil.”

“Oh. Well, good,” she said. “You could always be lying,” she reminded him.

“I am well aware.”

“Alright then,” she said with a shrug. She sighed. 

“Is anything else the matter?”

She looked at him. “What do you think?”

“Ah.” he straightened his back and pulled away from her. “I see.”

She frowned. “Everything. Everything is the matter.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Indeed. That is the state of things, I believe.”

“You are the closest person I have to a friend,” she said. “And you are Fen'harel.” she shook her head. “Every time I stop to think about it it becomes worse.” 

“I sympathize,” he said. 

“Do you?”

“Should I not?”

“I just wouldn't think that you would.”

To her surprise, he smiled. "You are not the only one who has been in such a precarious situation. I do understand how...trying it can be to balance so many different problems while you cannot trust those who follow you."

"I suppose that makes sense," she said. "Is there anything else wrong with the mark?"

He shook his head. "No, not at the moment."

Arethin sighed and rubbed her forehead. "That's something, I suppose."


	13. The Frailty Of Flesh And Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that graphic depictions of violence warning kicks in right about here

“Empress Celene and general Dubois have called for peace talks in Halam'shiral,” Josephine said. 

“Do we remember what happened the last time anyone attempted peace talks?” Arethin drawled. “Oh, yes. It was the Conclave. And it exploded.”

“Which is why we should be there,” Josephine said. 

“So this one gets destroyed, too?”

“Lady Lavellan, please,” Josephine sighed. 

Arethin raised her hands. “Fine. Peace talks.”

“Halam'shiral,” Ambassador Yara snorted. “That isn't offensive at all.”

“What do they have to do with us?” Arethin asked. 

“For one, if Dubois indeed retains the title of Empress, it is quite likely she will be worse than Celene,” Briala said. “For another, it's possible that the Venatori are involved.”

“How so?” 

“My people have recovered several Venatori agents sneaking around Halam'shiral—we have no idea why they were there, as they all killed themselves before we could interrogate them, but there is definitely a presence.”

“Corypheus has shown interest in Orlesian politics before,” Dorian pointed out, Vivienne nodding in agreement. 

“Yes, Alexius attacked the loyal mages, instead of risking Ferelden,” Vivienne said. “It is possible he's trying to gain some resource from the Orlesian court.”

“Entirely possible,” Dorian agreed. “If he managed to get the alliance of any noble, or control over the throne, he would have control over a very large military force.”

Arethin rubbed her temples. “So,” she said. “We need to get to the peace talks, somehow.”

Cassandra straightened. “Even more so,” she said. “Elthina might attempt to affect them in one way or another. We cannot allow this.”

“No,” Arethin agreed.

“Is it possible to send a warning?”Ambassador Vhelan asked. 

Leliana shook her head. “More than likely, they would ignore it, coming from us.” 

“I might be able to convince Celene,” Briala said with a grimace, revulsion crossing her face at the mention of Celene. “And many of the court are still impressed with your closing of the Breach, Lavellan, heretic Dalish or no.”

“Be that as it may, the Southern Alliance is still largely unrecognized by the Orlesians,” Vivienne said. “We have very little leverage.” she pursed her lips.

“You were once the court mage,” Briala said, folding her arms. “Do we yet have nothing?”

“It is quite complex, my dear, as you well know,” Vivienne said. 

“I think it is possible to manage,” Josephine said. “But it will be difficult. Perhaps publicly closing more of the remaining rifts will aid the Alliance's reputation.”

“Is there anywhere in particular that has a serious problem?” Arethin asked. 

“Crestwood, and the Western Approach,” Josephine explained. “Several areas near the Approach have also been stricken. Venatori have also been very interested in the Approach and the Graves, digging around for artifacts, we believe, so it is possible to deal with both at the same time.”

Leliana sat up suddenly, as if a thought had just struck her. “Emprise du Lion has been out of contact for some time,” she said. “It's possible that they are affected by the civil war, or the Venatori or Red Templars are doing something there.”

“And if we can help, that would be Orlesian territory, and closer than the Approach,” Arethin said. “Look into it.” 

Yara frowned, her eyes scanning over the map of Orlais on the table. “Emprise du Lion...that's technically Dales territory.” 

“Is it?” Arethin looked over, and indeed it was. “Hm. So it is. What are you thinking?” 

“Nothing,” she said. said. “Not at the moment. I am simply...considering.” 

“Considering what?”

“Well...if we had control of the throne, we might be able to get the Dales back,” she pointed out. “Just a thought. Saving their country has to count for something.”

Arethin looked at Yara, who glanced away from her. 

“Reclaiming the Dales would be very low on our list of priorities, if it can even be done,” Vivienne said. “And we must consider what would happen in order for that to take place.” she raised her eyebrows. 

“I would not say no to removing the Orlesian government from Halam'shiral,” Briala said. “Of course, might I remind you that Celene is the one who burned the city.”

“The nobles would never agree to such a thing.”

“That is the sign of an unstable ruler, however,” Josephine pointed out, her brows knit in a frown.

“And this is one reason we must consider affecting the peace talks in our favor,” Briala said. “Celene's behavior indicates very poorly if we were to ally.”

“Celene has no immediate heirs, so we cannot go to them--the closest would have been Grand Duke Gaspard, but as I understand it he died challenging Celene in Orzammar." Leliana glanced at Ambassador Vhelan, who nodded her confirmation. "Celene's main opponent is General Dubois, the primary attacker of Val Royeaux."

“Ugh,” Cassandra groaned. “That brute of a woman.”

“She is very warlike, and liable to turn on her enemies,” Leliana said. “She allied with Lambert and Elthina during the siege of Val Royeaux, but was entirely willing to ally with Justinia if Justinia gave her something better.”

“Practical,” Vhelan pointed out. “That is certainly far more stable than the other option, which includes 'lights own cities on fire.'”

“Practical in one instance isn't universal practicality,” Arethin said.

“No,” Cassandra agreed. “And if her greed for power outstrips the practical solution, then she will be a threat to us.”

“She is certainly power hungry,” Leliana said.

“Then we cannot support either of them,” Arethin said, and rubbed her forehead. “But if there's no Empress, the civil war continues...perhaps with Elthina calling more forces to her and turning them against us...”

“And Corypheus gets what he desires,” Josephine said. “Chaos.” 

“Then what do we do?” Arethin asked. 

The others looked at each other.

“Is there any other candidate we could put forward, perhaps?” Arethin asked. 

Josephine and Leliana exchanged a concerned look.

Josephine sighed and rubbed her forehead “At this point, we could likely pick any of the Orlesian nobility and they would have equal claim to the throne,” she said. “The line of succession has been that fragmented.”

“Celene wished to remove any chance of opposition,” Briala said. “She refused to marry, and refused to have children. And her family is kept at arm's length.”

“Are we absolutely sure Celene doesn't have any bastards running around?” Arethin asked.

“Quite sure, Lavellan,” Briala said, her voice dry as dust. 

“Then if we may choose who to support, we must pick someone quiet and stable,” Arethin said. “Someone who will cause no more trouble.”

“Ah,” Cassandra's face lit up. “I believe there is a third cousin of Celene's who is a Chantry Sister,” she said. 

“That sounds familiar,” Leliana said.

“Perfect,” Arethin said. “Pick her. A Chantry Sister is probably less than likely to burn down a city or invade her neighbors.”

“And would this cousin even consent to rule?” Vivienne asked. 

“She is not likely to,” Cassandra said. “But she should also understand the threats we are facing.”

Leliana would look for the cousin, and Josephine would gain more information about Emprise du Lion to try and see if there was some way the Alliance could gain more influence in Orlais. After a few days, they had the information on the Emprise, if not the cousin.

“Emprise du Lion is suffering from Red Templars taking up residence in their quarry,” Leliana explained. 

“Why the quarry?” Arethin asked, exchanging a worried look with the others.

Leliana shook her head. “I am not certain, my scouts could not get close enough. We believe that they are likely growing red lyrium, but why there in particular is not certain.”

“We need to take care of that, and now,” Vhelan said. 

“I agree,” Bann Teagan nodded. “This red lyrium cannot be allowed to spread.”

“Is there any way to get all of the people out of that province?” Briala asked. “People should not be allowed near any infection until it is cleared.”

“I agree,” Yara said. 

“Those families have lived there for generations,” Cassandra said. “We cannot simply remove them.”

“Then we will have to go there and see what we can do,” Arethin said. “After all, it doesn't do any good to have both a red lyrium infection and rifts.” 

Emprise du Lion was cold, unusually so for the time of year. It stood in the shadow of the mountains, and had been built among the ruins of Dalish buildings, which themselves had been built on Elvhen ruins.

There was a camp with Alliance soldiers, mostly Inquisition forces with one or two Orzammar soldiers—the Dalish didn't like to be in this area. Scout Harding was there, and briefed Arethin and her group (Cassandra and Sera), and told them what to expect. 

The Red Templars had taken up in a nearby quarry, and were picking off townsfolk and taking them away. For what purpose, no one had any idea. 

There was also a dragon's territory nearby, as well as some fascinating ruins and other features of geography, but they were really there for the Red Templars. 

They managed to get rid of the Templar problem, but didn't come across any new information apart from that red lyrium could grow in dead bodies as well as living ones.

“Eugh,” Sera made a face and kicked at one of the dead Templars. 

“Don't touch it,” Arethin warned her, grabbing her shoulder. “They're poison.”

Sera shuddered. “Creepy,” 

“Normal lyrium does not behave like this,” Cassandra said, looking down at the red lyrium. “Why does red lyrium do so?” 

“There's a theory that it's infected by the Blight,” Arethin said. “So it's just...moving to contaminate things with the Blight.”

Cassandra and Sera glanced at each other, unsure of what to make of this information.

They continued removing Templar camps, and eventually set up Alliance forward camps to try and protect the town. Arethin also closed several of the rifts, but the Alliance forces started to move the civilians away, so they could clear the red lyrium infection. The area, with its dragons, red lyrium, and rifts, was altogether much too dangerous for the few remaining civilians to stay. Even though Cassandra had mentioned the families that had been there, many people had already left, and when the few remaining were given an escape, they all left as well. 

Last to deal with was Suledin Keep, where apparently a demon had taken up lodging.

“A demon?” Arethin raised her eyebrows. “I am sure Suledin Keep is full of many demons. What makes this one so special?”

“It's a pretty powerful demon, by all accounts,” Harding explained. “It gave itself a name and everything.”

“A name?”

“Calls itself Imshael.”

“Imshael?” Arethin frowned. “Where have I heard that name before?”

“That is a Forbidden One,” Cassandra exclaimed. “I have seen the name in books before. What is it doing here?”

Sera shuddered. “Ugh, demons,” she spat on the ground. “Better take care of them, yeah?”

“Agreed,” Arethin nodded. “It cannot be allowed to continue to cause problems.”

Suledin Keep was enormous, and was a strange amalgamation of Dalish and Orlesian architecture. 

Huge statues of elvhen archers and wolves were set along the walls, but the walls themselves had clear signs of renovation and alteration.

“This place is...strange,” Arethin said.

“Don't like the elfiness,” Sera said. “But I kind of like the bows. Bows are good, yeah? Don't know why they have to be all elfy.”

“I just wonder why the Orlesians would keep all these,” Arethin looked up at an enormous wolf statue that watched over the main entrance to the Keep. “Most of the statues and buildings in the Dales got knocked down or destroyed in the invasion.”

“Maybe they liked 'em,” Sera said with a shrug. “Who knows what way all those poncy bastards jump?”

“That's true,” Arethin said. 

They continued on through the Keep, where they found some lingering Red Templars and some red lyrium experiments. The Templars had been using giants to try and grow red lyrium in, with mixed results. 

At the heart of the keep, they found Imshael. 

He appeared as a blond man, tall, with a long coat. The only thing that separated him from seeming entirely human was that his face didn't seem to want to work quite right, and his smile had entirely too many teeth.

“And here you are,” he said. “Ugh. Friends of Fen'harel, I can practically smell it on you.”

Arethin blinked at him. “And who is to say we're his friends?”

“Oh, you can just tell, after a certain point,” he rolled his eyes. “It's not worth it to lie to me. You, in any case, are his friend. Anyway. I can give you--”

“You will give us nothing, demon,” Cassandra said. 

“Choice. Spirit.” Imshael hissed. “I'm not a demon! Not one of those weak-willed perverted things that you idiots ruined with your fears and worries. No, no, no, I'm not like that at all.”

“What are you doing here?” Arethin wanted to know. 

“Well, some of your people ruined the time I'd been having earlier, so I thought I'd see what these Templars were up to,” he said. “Nothing too interesting, really, all 'red lyrium' this and 'we're the inheritors of Thedas that,' mostly nonsense.” he shrugged.

“Oh. Well, in that case, will you leave?” 

“What? Don't be ridiculous. I'm having such a lovely time.”

“Have it somewhere else!” Sera commanded of him, leveling her bow.

“Oh, Sera, Sera, little self-hating Sera,” Imshael laughed. “I mean, I would offer you something—I don't know, women? You'd like women, I bet.”

“Stop it,” Arethin said. “Leave her alone.”

Imshael leveled his gaze at her. “And _you_ ,” he said. “I bet Despair demons just have the _loveliest_ time with you, don't they? Ugh, all that _guilt_ , spilling off you in spades—no wonder you're Fen'harel's friend.” he smirked. “The blood of a people, the blood of one's son—what's the difference in the end?”

The blood drained from Arethin's face. She hurled a spell at him, and Cassandra and Sera took that as their cue to attack.

“Touchy, touchy!” Imshael taunted, his voice right in Arethin's ear. She whirled around, but he was already far away. 

“I could give him back,” Imshael said. “Well—I could try. Would that make you happy, healer-who-can't-heal?” 

“Shut up!” she snarled in Dalish, 

Cassandra landed a blow on him, and he stumbled. She shouted in triumph, but then he vanished, to be replaced with the shape of a huge Pride demon. Sera's arrows bounced off him, so she threw a flask of something very flammable. 

They all backed off as the demon caught fire, and Arethin hurled more spells. Sera threw several more flasks. The demon shifted through several other shapes, like a Despair demon and a Rage demon. 

Cassandra felt a bit useless, as they had to stay very far back. The combination of flammable liquids and spells made Imshael too hazardous to go near with a sword, so Cassandra stood and waited for an opening that did not come. 

At last, Imshael was gone. Arethin stood, breathing heavily. 

“Are you...alright?” Cassandra asked.

“I'm fine,” Arethin snapped and looked away. “We should just leave.”

“Ugh,” Sera's chest was heaving. “Bastard.” 

Arethin nodded, and didn't reply. They made their way back to the Alliance camp in silence, Cassandra and Sera exchanging worried looks. Arethin informed the soldiers that Suledin was clear. They rested at the camp, and then were on their way back to the nearest eluvian. 

“Are you really alright?” Sera asked as they rode away from Emprise du Lion.

“What do you mean?” Arethin asked. 

“That shite the demon said--”

“Forget it,” Arethin snapped. 

Sera jerked back, startled at her tone. Then she scowled. “Oi, don't bite my bloody head off about it!”

“Sera,” Cassandra murmured.

“What?” 

Cassandra carefully put a hand on Sera's shoulder. Sera stared at her, confused. 

“It would be wisest not to ask about what it said,” Cassandra murmured in her ear. 

“Why--?”

Cassandra shook her head. Sera, her expression a mixture of anger and worry, looked from her to Arethin, and didn't ask any more. 

There was blood on her hands, up to her elbows. She was covered in it. She could smell in in the air, taste it when she licked her lips. 

Around her there were bodies. Messy and bleeding and burnt, steel armor split open and blood spilling out. 

She pressed down. 

She was the healer, the protector. She was supposed to be the healer. She fixed things. 

There was so much blood. 

She knew blood. She had been around blood. Blood spilled out from between her fingers, over her hands, refusing to stay in, and her healing couldn't—it couldn't--

There had been—screaming—but now everything was quiet--

“Elladen,” she whispered. She glanced up to her son's face, saw his eyes glassy and his skin gone utterly ashen. “Elladen, stay awake,” she wanted to reach up and cradle his head but she didn't dare take her hands off his wound. 

Stomach wound. The Templar's blade had gored him, gone through his stomach and come out his back. When she had reached with her magic she felt his insides torn and bleeding.

His breath was shallow, so shallow. One breath. Another. 

“Please,” she said. “Ma'vherain, stay awake--” 

He didn't respond.

“I will reach into the Beyond and drag you back,” she choked. “They _can't have you yet_.”

The healing wasn't working. She kept pouring her magic into the wound, but it didn't work, she'd gotten here too late--

Not too late, I can't be too late--

All that blood--

_Monster--_

Someone touched her shoulder. 

She looked up.

“Solas?” she blinked, recognizing the man standing at her side. “We haven't met yet.” 

“Lavellan,” he said. “You are dreaming.”

“What?” that couldn't be. She smelled blood and—when she looked towards Elladen--

He took her chin. “Lavellan, you need to focus on me,” he said, directing her gaze towards him instead of at Elladen. “This is very important. You are Fadewalking.”

She stared into his eyes, and something came into focus. The world around them burst, vanishing into thousands of tiny sparks. 

He nodded, and took his hands away. “Better.” he said.

“Why are you here?” she demanded, surging to her feet and balling her hands into fists. “You shouldn't _be_ here!”

“I did not mean to come here,” he said, hands raised. “Your dreams are bleeding into the larger Fade.”

“What? No—I don't--” she heaved a breath. “Get out!” she put her hands on his chest, shoved him away, leaving streaks of blood. “If you know this—if any of what you say is true— _leave me alone!_ ”

“I _can't_ ,” he said. “If you do not regain control of your dream, you are going to draw something here that is dangerous, or you will lose yourself.” he took her wrists. “Your mark is giving you more access to the Fade than you would normally have. You are dreamwalking.”

His hands were solid and stabilizing, and she took a deep breath. 

“N-no,” she said. “That wouldn't—I can't--”

“Arethin,” she looked at him. “I need you to think. You are in the Fade. What do you do?”

She went very still, her eyes drifting to the image of the Black City overhead. She took several more deep breaths, and the smell of blood gradually began to fade. 

“Better,” he said. “Now—find your way back to yourself. Can you do that?”

She nodded. “Yes—yes, I know how.” she pulled away from him and and looked around. She saw a familiar doorway, and felt herself grow very tired. 

She felt like she were falling, and with a jolt, she awoke in her own bed. She sat up, her chest heaving. She looked around—she was in her own chamber. She stared down at her hands, and there was no blood. 

She put on a dressing gown and hurried downstairs, searching for Solas. 

She found him in his office, already awake. 

“You,” she snapped, pointing at him. “What do you think you are doing?” 

“I apologize for intruding,” he said. 

“Why did you do that?” she demanded, slamming her hands on his desk. “You can't just do that!”

“I would not have done, but it became dangerous,” he said, brows knitted. “The mark responds to emotions, as well as to the state of the Veil around it. Your mind was accidentally sent further into the Fade than you anticipated. You left the safety of your own dreams, and began Fadewalking by accident.”

“You said,” she growled. “Why didn't you tell me that could happen? Did you _want_ to see that?”

“No. I have no desire to see something that was clearly private,” he said. “I did not realize it would be so forceful—or draw so much attention. You could have been lost, or worse. Your nightmare had so much emotion attached it would have brought something very powerful had I not stopped you, and you were too entangled in it to see where you were.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He returned her gaze steadily. 

“Lavellan, a nightmare gone out of control is how many untrained somniari die,” he said. “Even those in Elvhenan.”

“And you didn't know it could happen like that? The mark could do that?”

“No. It--” he sighed. “I thought—I thought you had enough control over your dreams that it would not be a problem,” he admitted. “I did not realize—I am sorry. I did not consider it.” 

She gritted her teeth. “I...have not _ever_ had that happen before,” she said. “I have never just...fallen into the Fade like that.”

“No. And I am surprised that it only happened now. I worried, after Corypheus attacked Haven, but it did not happen then.”

“I—I don't know what changed,” she said. She glared at him. “Any other nasty surprises that the mark could be keeping?”

“It was made for a somniari,” he said. “I suppose it could be making your magic more like that of a natural somniari.”

“Is there any way to stop it?”

“No. You can gain control of it, however.”

“How?”

“There are many way. I could show you--”

“Don't,” she snapped. “I'll—I'll find the somniari from Clan Tualsalis, I don't—I don't want you to...” she trailed off.

“If that is what you wish,” he said. “But the longer you take to control it, the more likely you are to become lost, or draw unwanted attention.”

She didn't look at him. 

Solas was quiet for a long time, so long that she turned to leave, assuming the conversation was over. “When I was much younger,” he said, surprising her. “Too young to be recognizable, my dreams quite often bled into the dreams of others, or I fell into them by accident.”

She tilted her head in his direction, gazing at one of the murals behind him. “The Fade worked like that?” 

“It was not quite the same as it is now,” he said. He traced an outline on his desk with his finger. “But it was close enough that dreams could bleed. I had terrible nightmares, nightmares within nightmares, that terrified any nearby spirits and thoroughly disturbed the rest of others.”

“Why did you have nightmares?” she furrowed her brow, suspicious. “You don't have them now.”

“I have long since been able to control my dreams,” he said. “I had them for many reasons. Somniari are given to intense dreams of all kinds, and—well. There was always war, even then. The Evanuris had been warring since before I came to the world.”

“A very long time, then.”

“A very, very long time. In any case, you are not the first person whose dreams have reached others. Many times, someone else would have to shake me from a nightmare that I could not wake from myself.”

“Really.” 

“The first time someone pulled me out of a nightmare, I woke up, and began to throw things at her,” he said, startling her into a laugh. 

“Oh, you didn't!” 

“I did,” he looked away, seeming somewhat sheepish. “She had seen something that—I had not wished her to see. So I believe your response is quite measured in comparison.”

She sighed and ran a hand over her head. 

“How dangerous is it to train a somniari?” she asked. “Feynriel never mentioned problems like these. Or is it just you?”

“I have been told by reliable sources that I am an extremely difficult student, so I suspect that that reaction is not universal.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Indeed? I am not surprised.” she sighed. “It would take some time for Feynriel to get here,” she admitted. “And an ordinary dreamwalker won't do?”

He shook his head. “Not when you are in danger,” he said. 

“And...I suppose...if...” she paused.

He waited.

She looked at him. She knew—she _knew_ —that trusting Fen'harel was dangerous. He and Felassan had even admitted as such. 

But she could not give legend the weight of true history. He was still her friend, in spite of everything.

“Very well,” she said at length. “You may show me what you know.”

When she fell asleep next, Solas was with her. She knew him the instant she saw him. 

She looked around, seeing the world around them grow vague and foggy. “Where are we? Are we in your dream, or mine?”

“Neither,” he said. “We are in the Fade.”

She frowned. “I don't remember coming here.”

“The borders of your mind are easier to slip through,” he said. “This is something you need to be able to control, or you will come here by accident more often.”

“How do I control it?”

“You must first more quickly recognize when you have fallen out of your own dream.”

“I should already be able to do that,” she said with a frown. Usually the Fade was easy to recognize, and as she thought that, she started to see all the details that differentiated the Fade from her own mind.

“Under normal circumstances, yes. But most mages do not go into the Fade without intentionally willing it.”

“Has that always been true?”

He nodded. “The art of the somniari has existed as long as magic has,” he explained, and they began to walk along a path that developed before their feet. “Simply because there was no Veil does not mean that there were no borders at all. Everyone still had their own minds and dreams, and most did not fall between one or the other with as much ease as somniari.”

“Why does it happen?”

“Most somniari are simply born that way. Others learn. Or something causes them to be like that—but your case is extremely rare.” 

She nodded. “Does the Veil make it easier or harder to be somniari?”

“The Veil makes it...complex,” he sighed.

“How so?”

“The Fade is the only place that feels...right,” he said. “It would be far too easy to stay here forever.”

She looked at him, startled. “It doesn't feel like that to me.”

“it wouldn't. You would need to have lived in the world before the Veil to make an accurate comparison.”

“I see,” she nodded. “Very well. Show me what it is that you know.”

Sometime later, she woke up, still feeling rather tired. This only made sense, as somniari was a magical skill, and using magic was like using any other gift. It was no wonder Solas slept all the time, if half the time he was working magic instead of actually resting.

She went to see him again.

“I appreciate the lesson,” she told him. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

When Arethin left, Felassan came through the door on the other side of the room. It was clear he had been listening, and Solas suppressed a sigh.

“I told you this was better.” Felassan told him in Elvhen.

Solas raised his eyebrows at Felassan. “That has yet to be proven. And I would appreciate it if you did not eavesdrop on private conversations.”

Felassan narrowed his eyes, but affected a nonchalant shrug. “Someone has to keep a watch on you. Both of you. I know what the mark was meant for.”

Solas looked at him, gray eyes unwavering, and Felassan glanced away. 

“Sethannas,” Solas said.

“Felassan.” he corrected.

“That is an obnoxious story and I do not appreciate the reference.”

“It's meant to be a joke.” Felassan folded his arms. “I wasn't even aware that you knew my name.”

“Why would I not know it?”

“I am only one of many soldiers.”

“Well—not so many, now.” 

Felassan frowned. “I suppose that's true.”

“Regardless, Sethannas, I also am not fond of eavesdropping. Mistress Lavellan's business is her own, and to be shared only with those she chooses to share it with.”

“is it now?” Felassan raised an eyebrow. “I seem to recall that she's the one around whom a rather unnerving amount of events are coalescing.”

“That does not entitle you to listen to her conversations,” Solas' brows came together in a frown.

“Fine, fine,” Felassan raised his hands. “But don't blame me if--”

“I will blame you for her upset if she knows you are listening in on her.” 

Felassan gritted his teeth. “Fine,” he said.

“They would have hurt other people.”

Arethin jumped, startled, and turned to see Cole at her side. 

“What?”

“The Templars. Killing them doesn't make you a monster. They were monsters already.”

Arethin blinked at him, then the ramifications of what he said caught up with her. “Haven't I had enough people rummaging about in my head?” she demanded. “Can I have nothing to myself?”

He looked at her, unruffled. “The hurt is loud,” he said. “Very loud. I can't not hear it. I want to help...”

“Well, don't! Not this,” she shook her head. “You can't help this.” 

“But I--”

“You. Can't.”

She stared him down, and he ducked under his hat, suddenly sheepish. She sighed. “You shouldn't do that,” she said. “Looking into people's minds like that.”

He looked up at last, expression confused. “Why?” 

She stared at him, not sure how to answer that question at first. “Things are...private,” she said. “Do you...know what that means?”

“I hear the hurt. I can't not do that.”

She frowned at him. “When you...hear the hurt...what is that like?”

He blinked at her. “It's there, because it was already there. I could hear other things if I were made differently, but I'm not.”

“Isn't that confusing for you? Hearing all that hurt?”

He shook his head slowly. “No.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look,” she said at last. “It's more useful to people if you ask them if you can help before just voicing their thoughts, understand?”

“But then people won't want me to help. They're frightened of me.”

“All the more reason to take care.”

He looked at her, still rather confused. She glowered at him. 

"If you don't want to do that, then stop looking in my thoughts," she instructed. 

"I can't hear most of it," he said. "You're bright, like counting birds against the sun. Like Solas, sometimes. But sometimes, you're not." 

"Well, that is a relief," she said. "But if you can't hear most of it, how about work on not hearing _any_ of it?" 

"That won't help much," he informed her. 

"It's what I'd appreciate," she told him, and that was seemingly the end of that conversation.

The next person who decided to pry into her business was Sera. Arethin had gone a day or so with no one questioning her about her private life, and had thought that might be the end of it, when Sera intervened.

“So...that thing the demon said...”

“What about it?” Arethin glanced over her shoulder at Sera, who stood in the doorway of the war room, shifting from foot to foot. 

Sera scuffed a foot on the ground. She shrugged. 

“What is it?” 

“I dunno,” she said. “It talked a lot of shite, and...”

“It isn't important,” Arethin looked away.

“Got you all tied up in knots.” she folded her arms. 

“I'm _fine_.”

Sera glared at her, and Arethin sighed. 

“Sera. I'm fine—I really am,” she tried to give Sera a smile, but it came out more like a grimace.

“You don't sound fine.”

Arethin took a deep breath. It seemed no one could resist prying into her personal affairs. “My son is dead,” Arethin snapped. “Is that what you wanted to hear? And that—demon—knew it, and he--” she cut herself off. “There,” she said. “That's all.”

Sera stared at her. 

“Lavellan--” Sera stammered. “I—I didn't even know you had--”

Arethin shook her head. “No. Because I didn't want to tell anyone. Cassandra and Vivienne know because—well, when the Templars came to Haven--” she cut herself off.

“What've Templars got to do with it?”

“It was Templars that did it. That killed him.”

“Oh,” Sera breathed.

Arethin glowered at Sera. “That fear of magic—that hatred of mages—that did it. That killed him. That's where Templars come from.” she turned to Sera fully. “I'm sick of it,” she snapped. “I'm sick of my life being pried into by—by _everyone_ , by people not already knowing that what they do hurts people like me--”

Sera held up her hands. “Oi, I didn't do anything,” she said, her voice unusually gentle. “I just—I heard what it said, and I...”

“Why does everyone want to know _everything_ about me?” Arethin demanded. “It's not enough that Cassandra and Vivienne can't just take my word for it about Templars. Cole and Imshael and Solas have to get into my head—and you have to ask--”

“What's that about people getting in your head?” Sera asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Cole hears things, and Imshael did too,” Arethin said. “You know that. And my dreams—the mark makes everything—strange. I kept falling into the Fade—never mind. The point is that I'm sick of it. Isn't it enough that I'm trying to fix all the blasted problems everyone else created?” 

Sera stared at her, not saying nything. Arethin took that as license to keep going.

“The Veil—the Chantry—the damned Orlesian war, Corypheus—I'm the one fixing it, and people feel that means they can pry into my life--” she cut herself off at Sera's expression. She turned away. “I'm sorry,” she said immediately. “I shouldn't—I shouldn't have said that.”

“Andraste's ass, Lavellan,” Sera reached out and put a tentative hand on Arethin's shoulder. “Why didn't you friggin' say something before?”

“What?” Arethin muttered.

“Thought you were just stuck up and elfy. I didn't know—I don't know any damn thing until I dig it up,” Sera said. 

“I didn't think you'd want to hear it,” Arethin said stiffly. “It's not a pleasant story. And you've made your feelings about magic and the Dalish quite clear.” 

“That doesn't mean I wouldn't care if a kid got hurt over it,” Sera snapped. “That's not—that's not right. Not _ever_.”

“Well. That is what fears of magic cause. That is what my people deal with. I'm not the only one.” she glowered at Sera. “That is what your 'mages are too frightening to be around' causes. It _kills_ people.”

“Hang on, I didn't have anything to do with--”

“You and your Jennies didn't give a damn about mages or my people, or even the Alienages, till the Breach,” Arethin snarled. “I don't even know what you did except for bothering nobles—which,” she paused. “Alright, I suppose that's good. But for the love of all that is holy, did none of you _think_?”

Sera scowled. “Oi,” she snapped. “Don't get all up on me—I never did any of that.” 

“No, you just care about what's _normal_ ,” Arethin said, plowing ahead ruthlessly. “Without giving a damn what that meant! It's normal for my people to get chased around like thieves and criminals—normal for mages to be locked up in those prisons—normal for Templars to--” she choked and cut herself off. She covered her eyes with one hand. 

Sera stared at her, looking both angry and afraid. “Lavellan,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”

“What do you care?” Arethin demanded. “What does anyone care about except what I can give them?”

“That magic shite? Scary, alright?” Sera snapped. “And the elfy elves and your alliances and whatever—most of it's backwards and boring, no lie there.”

“Sera--”

“Most of what you friggin' talk about is weird, and doesn't make sense, and I don't—and you're _wrong_ ,” Sera continued. “But whatever happened to your boy? That's worse. Kids and grannies—they aren't supposed to get hurt.” she curled her fists and growled to herself. “They're not supposed to be in the middle of it.”

“Well, my son was,” Arethin said. “And Templars don't care who you are. If you're an apostate who fights back, they'll kill you.”

Sera shook her head. “They all talk a big game, Templars,” she said. “Whenever they come by, it's all demons this and that, but it wasn't any good seein' them around. Even if there was a demon, it wasn't any good. Just more people wavin' swords around and snatchin' people off the street. Figured it was fine—mages go to a tower, they get better, I guess. But a Templar never gets better. You go to the Templars, they know you die young.” 

Arethin blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

Sera shrugged. “Never see old Templars around, do you?”

“I suppose not.” 

“I didn't—I really didn't know,” Sera said. “You're always—you try to be friggin' calm about everything, right? Don't act like a normal person.”

“I can't,” Arethin shrugged. “If I acted like a normal person, no one would listen to a thing I said. Do you think anyone here is going to do what I need them to do if I just seem like a normal person?”

“So, what, you just scare people into doin' stuff for you?” Sera snorted. “Guess you can do that. 's not like havin' friends, though, is it?”

“No,” Arethin agreed. “It isn't.”

Sera huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Well, don't do that with me,” she instructed. “Throw all the fits you want. If you didn't, I'd never know a friggin' thing about you, right?” 

Arethin laughed, then covered her mouth. “You...are a very odd person, Sera,” she said. 

“Well, you hang out with demons all the time, so...I'm not the weirdest one here.”

"I suppose that's a fair point."


	14. The Most Sensible Conclusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this week, our heroes shamelessly meddle in orlesian politics without consulting even one orlesian noble lmao 
> 
> i figured _someone_ would figure out the theological implications of a dalish mage becoming andraste's herald sometime

“Helping Emprise du Lion helped our standing within the court,” Josephine said. “It certainly shows that we can help, and that we have the resources to do so.”

Arethin rubbed her temples. “Well, that is...something.”

“It might help a bit more if you deigned to take audiences with the nobility who request it, my dear,” Vivienne said, raising her eyebrows at Arethin. 

Indeed, Arethin had gotten several requests for an audience from several Orlesian nobles. She rejected them, claiming she had other work, which was entirely true. 

“I'm too busy,” Arethin waved a hand. “If they truly wanted to speak with us, they'd speak with all of us, not just me.”

“Support from the nobility is negligible in any case,” Bann Teagan said with a shrug. “We only need enough leverage to get into the peace talks—everything else is too fragmented to take advantage of. The only way the nobility of Orlais will be of any use is if they are united.”

“You speak from experience, I presume?” Vivienne asked.

“Of course, Madame,” Teagan took no offense to Vivienne's tone. “The first priority during the last Blight was ensuring Ferelden did not fall into a civil war—it would have made defeating the darkspawn almost an impossibility. Orlais has been at war with itself for almost a year at this point,” he spread his hands. “They will be of no use until the war has been ended one way or another.”

“Speaking of which, we have also found Sister Guiseppina,” Leliana said. “A cousin to Celene, entirely eligible to take the throne.”

Sister Giuseppina was a quiet, mousy young woman who did not resemble blonde and elegant Celene in the slightest. 

The meeting where they were introduced to her was larger than normal, with Dorian sitting at Vivienne's side and even Sera and Iron Bull, who normally were not very involved in the proceedings, sitting in. Sera looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Sister Giuseppina,” Leliana said.

Giuseppina gave them a nervous smile. “I do not know that I can help,” she said, looking around the large room and shifting from foot to foot. “I dislike this war as much as anyone, but--”

“Then you can help,” Leliana said. “If you wish it to end, you can help.”

“What can I do?” she asked. “I am the youngest daughter of my family—I never wanted to be involved with politics.”

“Does anyone?” Arethin asked. “We need you because we cannot back Celene, or Dubois.”

“Celene is a good diplomat,” Giuseppia said. “Of course you can support her!”

Everyone in the room glanced at each other, highly skeptical. Giuseppina blinked, confused.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“She burned the whole of Halamshiral to stop an uprising,” Cassandra said. “That is hardly the mark of a good ally or a good leader.”

“Well...I mean...the rebellion had to be stopped, did it not?” 

Briala glowered at her, and the mood turned distinctly frosty.

“And I suppose attacking her own city was appropriate?” Leliana said, raising an eyebrow. “In any case, quite a few of our allies do not view her favorable.”

“No, not particularly,” Arethin agreed.

Giuseppina glanced from Arethin, to Ambassador Yara, to Fiona, then Briala, then Sera, and a flicker of understanding crossed her face. “I see,” she said.

“Very good. Now, what shall we do next?” Arethin asked. 

“Due to some rather creative diplomatic work on the part of Leliana, Josephine and myself, we have managed to procure invitations to the masquerade that the peace talks will be held at,” Vivienne said. 

Ambassador Yara groaned. “A masquerade? Can't they have peace talks in a board room like normal people?”

“I agree,” Bann Teagan grumbled.

“The Orlesians do not work like that,” Cassandra said, with a twinge of disgust to her words. “They are much less...direct.”

“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “Until a city is on fire or under siege.” 

“Precisely.”

“Well, they don't appear to trade assassinations as a form of currency, so it's a leg up on the Magisterium in my opinion,” Dorian said. .

“In any case,” Leliana said. “We must attend this ball if we are to have any hope of influencing the outcome and deterring Corypheus.”

Arethin said. “How should we approach this? Should you and Vivienne go?” she gnawed at her fingernail. “But that would hardly be a balanced approach...”

“The court is very poisonous to those who are not well versed in it,” Briala pointed out, her expression troubled.

“Exactly my concern.”

“It would be more prudent if you went,” Josephine said. “For one, there are rumors of rifts in Halamshiral itself. It would hardly be safe for us to come across a rift unprepared. For another, many still look up to you, and see you as influential.”

“Is that so?”

“You survived the destruction of Haven,” Giuseppina said. “I've heard the stories. You brought the mages to heel--”

“ _Excuse_ me,” Fiona said, clearing her throat. “But Lady Lavellan requested our assistance to deal with the Breach, and Enchanter de Fer offered her own people to help as well. No one brought anyone to heel.”

“Well, surely only one blessed by Andraste could bring so many disparate and savage groups together,” Giuseppina said. “Even the elves have joined your cause!”

All the elves sent glares of varying degrees of severity at the woman. 

“I am not sure if you've noticed,” Arethin said. “But I, Fiona, Sera, and Ambassadors Yara and Briala are elves.” 

“Precisely!” Giuseppina said. “Who but the chosen of Andraste could bring peace between the Dalish and the Chantry?” 

“Perhaps an individual who approaches the situation with a clear head?” Dorian suggested. “Personally, I don't disagree, but I don't think you can say _everything_ that happened is because of Andraste.”

“You don't disagree?” Arethin raised an eyebrow at him.

“My friend, it is either admit the Maker had a hand in all this, or blame Solas for all of it,” Dorian folded his arms “And I'd really like to think the Maker has better taste in clothes.” 

Arethin sighed. Giuseppina looked baffled, but no one moved to explain. 

“In any case,” Josephine said. “It would only be prudent to not only have you there, as well as Ambassador Briala--”

“I would be there in any case,” Briala said. “I could not be far from Celene's side at such a moment.” 

“But also Cassandra as well.”

“Who should we avoid bringing?” Dorian said. “I'm already counting myself out, with the whole Tevinter nationality and everything.”

“My dear, your nationality might be a benefit,” Vivienne said. “To begin with, I would hardly be parted from my second for something so important, and for another—what better way to show that our Alliance has power than to show that even Tevinters can be turned to our side?”

“Or, that Tevinter has poisoned the Alliance from within,” Dorian said. “There will be Venatori there, remember. If I come, the Orlesians could easily accuse you of harboring Venatori yourself.”

“Either option is possible,” Leliana said. “We would need to consider it in more detail. Grand Enchanter, it would be a very bad idea for you to come, however.”

“I thought as much,” Fiona agreed. 

“I'm going to assume any elvhen representative apart from Lavellan and Briala would be unwelcome as well,” Yara said. “Too many Dalish would seem like an invasion or some rot.”

“Very likely,” Josephine said with a sigh. 

Sera groaned. “Sounds awful, but my people'll probably be there, 'cos of all that's goin' on,” she stuck her tongue out. “Don't know if that means I should bother.”

“Our people can coordinate with the Jennies,” Briala said. “You do not necessarily have to be there in person.”

Sera gave a sigh of relief. 

“There is one last thing,” Leliana said. “Celene has a new court enchanter.”

Vivienne's lip curled at the mention of the woman.

“Who?” Arethin asked.

“A woman named Morrigan.” Leliana frowned. 

“Do you know her?”

“Yes,” Leliana said. “She is Surana's lover, or was when I last heard.”

“A hedgewitch from the Wilds,” Vivienne sneered. 

Leliana nodded. “She is very dangerous. She knew of many forbidden magics, and she and Surana remained undetected by the Circle, the Templars or anyone else for years. Where she is, Warden-Commander Surana will be nearby, I am certain of it.”

“If you knew about her, why didn't you ask her where Surana was?” Arethin asked.

Leliana shook her head. “She has evaded me every time,” her lip curled. “Quite a fascinating feat.”

“One likely aided by magic,” Vivienne murmured. 

“Then we need her on our side,” Arethin said. “At the very least, she might know where the Warden-Commander is.”

“She is a cruel woman,” Leliana said. “I was never sure what Surana saw in her...you will have to be careful around her.”

“Well, that's hardly news,” Arethin waved a dismissive hand. “When should we be there?”

“The peace talks are in three months time,” Josephine said. “In the meantime, we should see if we can learn anything else about the Venatori or Corypheus' plans.”

“Oh--There's some rot going on in Verchiel,” Sera said, leaning forward. “Not sure what it is, 'xactly, but people are getting hurt.”

“What do you think we should do?” Arethin asked.

“Send some of your people to just walk through,” Sera explained. “You know—so they know someone's keepin' an eye on them.”

“That might help our standing with the court as well,” Josephine said, her tone contemplative. 

“Or it could hurt it, depending on their opinion of Red Jenny operations,” Cassandra said. 

“It's just soldiers, yeah?” Sera said. “And I don't even need 'em to do anything! Just let the noble pricks in Verchiel know that we're keepin' an eye on the place.”

“Verchiel, Verchiel...” Leliana hummed to herself. “Yes, Sera, I believe I might be able to help you and your people with this.”

Sera brightened. “Great!” she said. “Nice doin' somethin' important without doing much of a thing, yeah?” 

“Um—Lady Lavellan--” Sister Giuseppina followed Arethin on her way out of the meeting. 

“Sister Giuseppina,” Arethin nodded. “Did you need something?”

“I wished to say—well, I'm not sure I hold with all of this, truth be told,” she said in a hushed voice.

“All of what?”

“All this spying and sneaking about—I never wanted to be involved in politics. That's why I went to the convent.”

Arethin simply looked at her, and Giuseppina worried her hands. 

“I've heard—the most dreadful rumors, Lady,” she said. “The—the woman who claims the Sunburst Throne sent a missive to me.”

“And what did she say?” 

“She wanted me at her side,” Giuseppina explained. “But—well--” her face acquired a mask of hardness to it. “She was the one who caused the siege of Val Royeaux. It was she who started this war.”

Arethin inclined her head. “And why did you come to us instead?” she was curious to know. 

“Well—when she came to me, I knew I could not remain at my convent for long,” Giuseppina was downcast. “Others would come. When your Nightingale asked me—well. I wanted to see if I could help.”

“Thank you.”

“And I wished to see you, of course.”

Arethin blinked at her, then frowned. “Why?”

“Why would I not wish to see the Herald?” Giuseppina's words came out in a rush. “You sealed the Breach! You survived an avalanche, defied that—darkspawn creature—it is by your hand that the mage rebellion has been quelled, and you have even brought the dwarves and the elves to your side—how could I not wish to see such a thing?”

Arethin tilted her head to one side. “I see.” 

Giusppina began to pace. “Imagine! A heathen mage—blessed by the Maker!”

Arethin's expression grew darker at the 'heathen' comment. “Fascinating indeed.”

“I began to think—if you have been so blessed, but our Divine is dead, and she who is on the Sunburst Throne is—is such a villainess, then...” she wrung her hands again and looked at Arethin. “What does it even mean, to be a heathen? You have done nothing but aid us, come in our hour of need.”

Arethin blinked, now more interested in the turn the conversation had taken. “Perhaps it means nothing,” she suggested. “An accident of fate. Perhaps your Chantry is not so wondrous a thing as you believe it to be.”

Giuseppina's eyes grew wide. “Do you hear the word of the Maker?” she asked. “Did you see Andraste?”

“No.”

“But--”

“No, I did not.” 

Giuseppina looked down. “Well—perhaps you might believe that,” she said. “But I am not so sure.” 

“I am.” 

“Very well, Lady Lavellan,” Giuseppina said. “But the fact remains that you are not Elthina.”

“Very true.” 

“If anyone might be able to salvage the world, it is you.” 

“Perhaps.”

It was after that curious conversation with Giuseppina that Vivienne came to speak to Arethin as well.

They had not spoken very much since the debacle with the Templars back in Haven. First the flight from Haven had occupied much of their time, then settling into Skyhold, and other various problems. 

Now it seemed that Vivienne deigned this a good time for them to speak to each other again, specifically regarding one issue in particular. 

“My dear, I would know what you would do to improve Circles,” Vivienne explained. 

“Why are you asking me?” Arethin wanted to know, folding her arms. “I'd tell you to not have them at all.”

“If I am to restore them, I need to have information from all parties,” Vivienne said. “There is nothing so dangerous to any mage as a lack of knowledge. If experiences like yours are common, then more people will be afraid of the Circle, forcing even more conflict.”

“Here's an idea,” Arethin had no patience for this conversation. “Mayhap don't kidnap people's children or separate them from their spouses, hmm?” she raised her eyebrows.

“And what would you choose instead? Many families refuse to relinquish their children to the Circle--”

“Because they would never see them again,” Arethin snapped. “I do not understand why this is such a difficult concept.”

“Then how would you go about educating mages?” 

“Are you actually interested, or are you going to start going on about the evils of magic again?”

“Magic is not evil, despite what certain overzealous parties might tout,” Vivienne said with a disapproving little huff. “It is dangerous, just as fire is dangerous. Those who forget this truth are burned. I simply wish to prevent more tragedies in the future.”

“Do you also plan on locking up anyone who knows how to use a stove?”

“It is not the same thing. Lavellan, I wish for mages to be safe, and for people who are not mages to be safe from magic. If you wish to avoid tragedy, explain what you would do.”

“They are called ordinary schools, Madame,” Arethin said. “The Dalish use Keepers and other teachers, perhaps sending someone to another Clan if they have a particular inclination towards one school of magic. You need only take people to a school where they are not locked away and threatened with death every day of their lives.”

“Interesting,” Vivienne nodded, as if satisfied.

“Is that all you wished to know?”

“No, my dear, you have been quite helpful,” Vivienne gave her a strange, tiny smile, and left her then.

Arethin wasn't quite sure what to make of the conversation. On the one hand, perhaps Vivienne was going to try and make a real school for mages, not a prison. On the other hand, perhaps this was simply some sort of elaborate game. The woman had been at the Orlesian court, after all. 

Arethin snorted softly, watching the door that Vivienne had left through. There was the third possibility, of course, that Vivienne's mishap with Alexius had left her a bit touched in the head. Many of the loyal mages seemed that way, as far as Arethin had been able to observe, forgetting risk and sleep at times, having strange outbursts or ideas. 

Arethin supposed she didn't blame Vivienne in the end. She had gone right from one prison to another, and that had to make the way one thought about some things strange. Perhaps she should give Vivienne a bit more credit. Spending five years with only the Venatori and increasingly unstable mages for company would make anyone strange.


	15. Under A Roaring Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looks like the qunari are up to something--bull's loyalty mission always seemed a little fishy to me
> 
> dreadnoughts, in the real world, are some of the largest (and heaviest) naval vessels ever.

About a week later, Keeper Merrill came through the eluvian. 

Keeper Merrill was tall and olive-skinned, with black hair tied into a short braid. She wore armor instead of mage robes or the furs more common to mages, chainmail and intricately worked plate. Clan Tualsalis had gotten many gifts from other Clans, those who were grateful for Keeper Merrill's work, and it showed in her fine armor and ironbark staff. 

“Keeper Merrill!” Arethin exclaimed. “I didn't expect to see you here—you should have sent word!”

“I couldn't,” she said, shaking her head. “This is too urgent.”

“What is it?” 

“Well—I wanted to speak with—with Fen'harel,” she finished in a hushed tone. “it concerns the eluvian network, and he might know some about it.”

“I'll find him,” Arethin said. She fetched Felassan as well, just in case.

When they were introduced, Merrill looked at Solas with wide eyes. She mostly ignored Felassan after giving him a perfunctory greeting.

“Lavellan says you're Fen'harel,” she said. “Is that true?”

“Yes.” he replied. “Did you doubt what you had been told?”

“Oh. You're a little shorter than I thought Fen'harel would be, is all. I didn't mean to offend you.”

“You did not.” he tilted his head to one side. “And what did you think Fen'harel would be?”

“I don't know. A giant wolf?”

“I can be that. I just choose not to at this time.”

“Oh,” Merrill nodded. “That makes sense. I never got the hang of shapeshifting, it's ever so difficult.”

“Indeed it is.” 

“Keeper, what did you need to see us for?” Arethin asked. Knowing Solas and Merrill, it was possible that they would get into a debate that lasted for hours. 

“Oh—well, it isn't good. We think someone else—besides the Dalish—is activating eluvians,” Merrill said.

“Someone else?” Solas frowned. “Do you know who?”

Merrill shook her head. “I say think because—well, it's as if some are being activated then turned dark again, before we can find who turned them on in the first place.”

“Well, it's not us,” Felassan said. 

“No, there would be no point,” Solas said, his brow furrowed. 

“If it isn't the Dalish, and it isn't you, then who could it be?” Arethin asked with a frown. “Who else could turn the eluvians on?” 

“I don't know,” Merrill said. “I'm worried it might be the Qunari. That's why I wanted to see you--” she turned to Solas. “Would the eluvians be as far north as Par Vollen? We haven't found any that open anywhere past the Tevinter border, and it's dangerous to go there in person--”

Solas shook his head. “No, the network stopped at the ocean,” he said, exchanging a look with Felassan. 

“It never reached as far north as Par Vollen,” Felassan agreed. “Like the Deep Roads. Why do you think it might be the Qunari?”

“Well, humans don't like them, the eluvians, I mean, even magisters probably wouldn't even be able to turn them on in the first place,” Merrill explained. “If it were dwarves or other Dalish, we'd know about it. And you would know if it were more elves like you, wouldn't you?” she asked Solas. 

“There might be other Elvhenan natives who I do not know about,” Solas said. “If so, it's possible that it would be one of them.”

“But why would they hide from us?” Merrill asked. 

“It's entirely possible that our kin would not wish to speak with you, for one reason or another,” Felassan said, but he still looked worried. “And us, of course, but...I have never encountered any.”

“And there would be little reason to turn the eluvians dark again,” Solas said.

“So, I'm worried that the Qunari have gotten a hold of one,” Merrill said. “It wouldn't hurt them the way the network hurts humans—I've seen plenty of vashoth go through and not have any problems.”

“Iron Bull doesn't have any issue with the eluvians,” Arethin remembered. She and Solas exchanged a glance.

“Perhaps Iron Bull might know more?” Solas suggested.

Merrill looked between them. “Who is Iron Bull?”

“Our friendly Ben-hassrath,” Arethin said with a grim smile. “Come on, we can introduce you.”

Merrill stared at Bull with open awe when they were introduced, seeming much more impressed with him than she had been with Solas and Felassan. Her eyes traced his tattoos, fascinated, but the mood was quickly brought down as Iron Bull didn't have any more information than they did.

“Sorry, I'm not really up to date on whatever Par Vollen is up to right now,” Bull said. “Magic isn't really my department.”

“Whose department would it be?” Arethin asked. “If they're using our eluvians--”

“See, I'm not sure why they would be,” Bull said, his brow furrowed. “You know the Qun isn't a big fan of magic, and those mirrors are about as magic as they come.” 

“Then who else could be opening the eluvians?” Merrill asked.

“Not sure. Are you sure they're being opened?” 

Merrill nodded. 

Bull frowned. “There are some Ben-hassrath whose job it is to investigate magical artifacts,” he said. “But they don't really use them. But if they are...”

“If they are, then what?”

“I got a message from Par Vollen, right before you turned up,” he nodded to Merrill. “The Qunari want an alliance with you.”

Arethin blinked. “What? Why? And why now?”

“They think Corypheus is more dangerous than you are,” he said, but he looked distinctly troubled. “But this coming right when you bring us the news about the eluvians...”

“More than a fascinating coincidence, I would guess,” Solas said. 

“Exactly.”

“Why exactly would we ally with the Qunari in the first place?” Arethin asked. “We have quite a wide variety of mages on the council.”

“The Qunari have weapons you won't ever have seen before,” Bull said, stroking his chin. “They probably think that's good enough for you.” his air of unease did not lift. “But between this, and the eluvians...Boss, this might be nothing, but it might also be them wanting to gear up for an invasion.”

They all went quiet for a moment, thinking of that. 

“Why would they do all this?” Merrill asked. “Couldn't they just invade? The Arishok in Kirkwall--”

“They'd send in spies first,” Bull said. 

“Spies like yourself, perhaps?” Solas said quietly.

“Probably ones who didn't say they were spies,” Bull said, taking no offense to the question. “The situation with the Arishok in Kirkwall was a special case, so I hear.” he shook his head. “But this thing with the Breach might have pushed their plans forward. Last I heard, they didn't want much to do with the south, but with everything that's been happening, they might want to come in and deal with it themselves.”

Arethin narrowed her eyes at him, and both Solas and Felassan were looking rather suspicious as well. “Why are you telling me this?” Arethin asked. “Wouldn't it be in your interest for the Qunari to invade?”

“You think I want an invasion?” he shook his head. “No. When the Qunari march—Lavellan, you'd never want to see anything like it.”

“Isn't that what you want?” Arethin asked. “Them spreading the Qun?” 

“No,” he said. “I think this whole place would be healthier under the Qun—but the war to make that happen would be too bloody. It wouldn't be worth it. And I don't really want the opportunity to see which way all the crazy mages you've picked up will jump.” 

Felassan smirked. Solas rolled his eyes, and Arethin couldn't help a small smile, but quickly sobered.

“So,” she said. “We need to do something about this.” 

“Yeah.” Bull agreed.

They took Bull's message and Keeper Merrill's findings to the council, who were all worried by the implications. 

“So,” Arethin said, after explaining what was happening. “What should we do?”

“You should at least talk to the Qunari,” Bull suggested.

“Why?”

“Because otherwise, we won't get a chance to know what's going on.”

“True enough...” Leliana murmured.

“That would be even more dangerous than seeing Elthina was,” Ambassador Yara pointed out.

“But the Qunari might pose a larger threat,” Arethin said. She sighed. “If we were to approach the Qunari saying we want an alliance, what would we do first?” she asked Bull.

“They'd want to see you, specifically,” Bull said.

Everyone stiffened.

“Why?” Arethin asked. 

“You're kind of the figurehead of this whole thing,” Bull explained. “Everyone else has too many ties to one organization. And you're the one who closed the Breach.”

“I see,” Arethin frowned.

“So, you would meet with whoever they've got representing them,” he said. “It's possible there'd be...some kind of show of force, something that they would prove they were useful to you.”

The meeting finished with them not having come to any true conclusion, and ultimately, it was another point of view that truly decided Arethin.

“Lavellan,” 

Arethin turned to see Eilhana, the Dalish member of Bull's Chargers. “Eilhana,” she said. 

“You should do this mission,” Dalish said. 

“Why?”

“I--” Dalish shook her head. “Bull's a friend. He's—I don't want the Qun to take him away.”

“Isn't it more likely to do that if we do this?”

She shook her head. “I get a bad feeling from this mission. So does Krem, and Chief himself. No one likes the smell of it. Maybe—one last push, and he'll free himself.”

“You can't make people change, Eilhana.” 

“I know,” she jutted her chin out. 

Arethin sighed. “I get a bad feeling too,” she admitted. “This, and Keeper Merrill talking about someone toying with the eluvian network—it might be worth looking into.”

Dalish gave a relieved sigh.

“We'll come with,” she said. “We go where he goes.”

“As you will.”

So, at the urging of the Chargers, Arethin went.

Iron Bull's contact was far out on the Storm Coast, where fortunately, an eluvian was there as well, shortening the journey. 

“Are you absolutely positive a Qunari contact won't simply try to kill me on sight?” Arethin asked Bull. 

“Pretty sure,” he said. “They won't kill me, so you're probably okay.”

“That is, of course, exactly how I like my odds of survival described.”

A contingent of Dalish mages and Orzammar soldiers guarded the eluvian (the Orzammar soldiers with Casteless marks on their faces). The eluvian itself had been dug up from a ruin in the forest, and taken here, to a more opportune location. 

“Has there been anything unusual happening?” Arethin asked the guards, speaking in Common for the party's benefit.

“Keeper Merrill came through to check on things,” one of the guards said. “Told us to keep an eye out for Qunari. We spotted someone we think might be one of them, up the coast a little, but we heard you were coming through so we left him alone, just kept him away from here.”

“Has he been very interested?”

“Not so's we could tell.”

Arethin and Bull exchanged a look. “Very well,” Arethin said. “Let's see what he wants, shall we?”

The contact was a wiry elvhen man, dark-haired and pale. Arethin narrowed her eyes when she saw that he sported Dalish-style armor. His eyes took in everything about the group, lingering on the mark on Arethin's hand and the staff on her back. 

“Good to see you again, Hissrad,” the man said to Bull, cracking a stiff smile at last. 

Bull was pleased to see him. “Gatt! Last I heard, you were still in Seheron.”

Gatt smirked. “They finally decided I'd calmed down enough to go back into the world.”

“Lavellan, this is Gatt,” Bull said. “We worked together in Seheron.”

“It's quite...something to meet you, Lady Lavellan,” Gatt said, his eyes calculating as they focused on her tattoos, then on her hand again. “Hissrad's reports have had a lot of interesting things in them.”

Arethin and Iron Bull exchanged a look. “Interesting things? Such as?”

“Well, that bit about Fen'harel was probably the strangest,” Gatt said. “They _really_ didn't like hearing about that back in Par Vollen, by the way,” he told Iron Bull. “Don't believe it, but don't like hearing it anyway." 

“Well, they wouldn't,” Bull said. “Nobody liked hearing about that.”

“What are we here for?” Arethin folded her arms. “I would like to know what this is all about, if you please.”

“We have a quarrel with this Venatori cult, the same as you,” Gatt explained with a shrug. “The Imperium is bad enough without them making things worse.”

“True,” Arethin nodded in agreement.

“We found a Venatori supply shipment a few months back,” Gatt said. “The shipment came out of an area of the Deep Roads that had been quarantined with red lyrium. We don't know if it's red lyrium they're carrying, but it's definitely possible.”

“Do you know where they'd take it?” Arethin asked. “To Orlais, or further north?”

“Minrathous, we think,” he explained. “There isn't any red lyrium up there, but if the Venatori infected it--”

“They could have control over the Imperium if they played it correctly,” Arethin breathed. She paused. “Wait a moment—are you telling me that the Qunari had information about red lyrium, and you did not tell us before we came here?” Arethin advanced on Gatt, but to his credit, he stood his ground.

“We could not trust you,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “We still don't know if we can trust you now.”

“You didn't even trust Iron Bull?”

“That's normal,” Bull said. “Information is pretty heavily restricted, even for Ben-hassrath.”

Gatt nodded. 

“You're an unknown,” he told Arethin. “Why would we give you information if we didn't know what you would do with it?”

“We hardly wish for red lyrium to infect any more than it already has!” Arethin snapped.

“Lavellan,” Bull said. “We've got the information now. And we don't want red lyrium up where the Imperium can get a hold of it.”

Arethin shook her head and glared at Gatt. “Very well,” she said. “Now what?”

“We've one of our dreadnoughts out of sight of the Venatori,” Gatt explained. “If you take out the mages on land, the dreadnought can get the supply ship.”

“You brought a dreadnought out for this?” Bull raised his eyebrow. 

“Is that a problem, Bull?” Arethin asked. 

“No,” Bull said. “I just hate covering dreadnought runs...I don't know about this, Gatt. It's risky.”

“Riskier than letting red lyrium into the Imperium?” Gatt asked. 

“Mm,” Bull didn't look happy, but didn't argue. 

“Is there anything else about this you haven't said?” Arethin asked, folding her arms.

“The ground forces are in two camps, one up the coast, the other one a few miles south of us,” Gatt said. “We'll need to split into two teams.”

“Lavellan, you, Krem and I can go with Gatt,” Bull said. “Grim can lead the Chargers.”

Arethin nodded. “Alright, that makes sense.”

Bull made sure Gatt was out of earshot, then pulled Arethin aside.

“Bull, what is a dreadnought?” Arethin asked immediately. “I've never heard of such a thing.” 

“Lavellan, your people don't have anything like dreadnoughts,” Bull said in a hushed tone. “ _No one_ in the Alliance does.”

“What are they?”

“Huge warships,” he explained. “Pretty much the biggest thing that floats. They're armed with gaatlock cannons, saarebas, the biggest weapons we have.”

Arethin went pale. “Then...what does this mean?”

“You don't have anything like this, and neither does the Imperium. Neither does anyone. They don't even bring them out usually except for fights with magisters. I don't like that they brought a dreadnought down instead of taking the whole operation out quietly.”

“What do you think it means?”

“Not sure. I don't think it's an invasion, otherwise they'd never have bothered telling us about it.” 

“Then what?”

“Well, for one, they really don't want the Venatori moving that lyrium,” Bull said. 

“Neither do we.”

“No, we don't. But they could have sent a smaller force—spies, even ordinary soldiers—but they sent a dreadnought.”

Arethin gritted her teeth. “Are they really that dangerous?” she asked. 

“No one in the south has anything like them,” Bull said. “They don't even come to the south, usually. This...this is weird.”

“Can we get Gatt to tell us any more, do you think?”

“Probably not. He's pretty loyal—the Qun saved him from slavery. Usually, with a story like that, you don't have a lot of doubts.”

Arethin grimaced. 

Bull couldn't help but chuckle. “Yeah, I know what you think. I'm just glad we don't have Solas or Sera with us—the last thing we'd need would be the two who like to cause the most trouble. Dorian might actually light him on fire.”

She sighed. “He's probably got all kinds of anti-Dalish nonsense up in that head of his—I can't really use that to appeal to him.”

“The Qun isn't so bad about the Dalish, actually,” Bull said. “Think you're pretty freaky, but otherwise, don't really care.”

“Are you quite sure they're not here for me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because _we'd_ be fighting if that was the case.”

“And who is to say you did not lure me out here to kill me?”

“Look, I really don't want to risk getting on Solas' bad side, he might—I don't know—summon a huge demon to eat me, or something. And as bad as he is, Cassandra's about a hundred times worse.”

Arethin blinked, surprised. “What would Cassandra do?”

Bull laughed at that. “Oh, you...have no idea, do you?”

“No idea of what?”

“Never mind. The point is, they probably don't want to kill you—especially since you're the best link to Corypheus they'd have. I think it might be a warning.”

“'Don't fight us, we have giant warships?'”

“Something like that.” he sighed and shook his head. “I don't like this, Lavellan. I don't like this at all.”

“Not even from your own people?” Arethin raised her eyebrows. 

“I don't want them getting mixed up in southern politics when they can't even figure out Seheron,” Iron Bull waved a hand. “There's not really any need to get more enemies than you have to, and someone who does is a problem. Come on, let's do this.”

“As you say.”

The two of them and Krem joined back up with Gatt. Gatt continued to watch Arethin, his eyes frequently straying to her mark. 

“Is there anything in particular you require?” she snapped at him eventually, catching him staring at her for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“All that magic,” he said. “You're a mage as well. I'd've thought you'd be half-mad at this point—some of the Ben-hassrath even suspected it.”

Arethin rolled her eyes.

“Oh, you've done it now,” Krem muttered. 

“You know, I have an accredited source that says all elves used to have magic,” Arethin snapped. “You of all people should not be scared of magic. It's normal. The more scared you are of it—the more you act like it will kill you—and _it will kill you_.”

“You've never seen Tevinter magisters, I take it,” Gatt said.

“No, just Corypheus.” she stared hard at him. “And I saw him very, very close.” she shook her head. “The Qun's damned mages will be the death of you all, just you wait.”

“What do you mean? What about your mages?”

“Your mages are the ones who can barely cast spells,” Arethin said. “I know what saarebas training is like. Every spell they make damages the Veil even more—the only control they have is from one of your people imposing it, and that is no control at all.” 

Gatt shrugged. "The south and the Imperium are the ones with mage problems, not the Qun."

"And that makes it acceptable to treat people like they are animals?" Arethin demanded. "Worse than animals?"

“The Qun is hardly perfect,” Gatt said. “But you are the one housing the Dead Wolf at your castle. Not really sure you have a lot of room to criticize.”

“It belonged to him, first,” Arethin said. “And second, what would you know about it? You're Viddethari.”

“As if your people would have taken me in,” Gatt sneered. “The Qunari were there to help me—where were the Dalish?”

“Excuse us for not having the military strength required to take on all of the Imperium,” Arethin hissed. “If you'll recall, that never went too well for us in the past.”

“Enough, both of you,” Bull said. “I'm pretty sure we're supposed to be doing work.”

“I wish we had brought Dorian,” Arethin muttered to herself, with one last glare at Gatt, who glared right back. 

“You've been living outside the Qun for years now, Iron Bull,” Gatt said, eyeing Bull with a calculating expression. “Some of the Ben-hassrath were worried you'd gone native.”

Bull chuckled. “No,” he said. “Not a chance.”

Arethin frowned and glanced at Krem, who met her gaze steadily. 

They came to a Venatori encampment within an hour, and they fought through it with little difficulty. They had not been expecting company, so they were caught by surprise. At last, they found themselves on a cliff that overlooked the coast. 

Gatt lit a signal fire, to call the dreadnought in.

“Can we see the Chargers' position from here?” Arethin asked, squinting down at the coast. 

“There they are,” Krem pointed down the coast, to where another signal fire was lit. “Looks like they took care of the Venatori pretty quickly.” he and Bull exchanged a smile.

“There's the dreadnought,” Gatt said, pointing.

The dreadnought came in out of the fog. It was enormous, larger than any boat or ship Arethin had ever seen. It could have housed the whole of Clan Lavellan, and would not have easily fit into the courtyard at Skyhold.

“Creators,” she murmured, watching it come into full view. 

Gatt smirked. “A sight, isn't it?”

“That brings back memories,” Bull said, shaking his head.

The dreadnought fired a shot at the Venatori boat, slamming it in the side. The Venatori vessel immediately fired back, mages throwing their own fire at the dreadnought. They watched the fight for some time, before Arethin noticed something disturbing.

More Venatori were advancing on the Chargers' position.

“Chief,” Krem said, grabbing Bull's arm.

“I see them,” Bull said. 

Arethin squinted. “Bull, that looks like...a great many Venatori.”

“It _is_ a lot of Venatori,” Bull said.

“Sound the retreat!” Krem exclaimed. “They'll get killed!”

“Don't,” Gatt snapped. “Your men need to hold that position. If they don't, the Venatori can attack the dreadnought from the shore, and the shipment will escape.”

“That boat has a lot of holes in it at this point,” Arethin said. “I'm fairly sure it's sinking as we speak. Bull, sound the retreat.”

“Don't do it,” Gatt insisted. “Hissrad—if you let this go, you'll be throwing away an alliance with the Qunari! You'd be declaring yourself Tal-vashoth!”

“Over one bad order?” Krem snorted. 

“They're my men,” Bull growled. 

“I know,” Gatt's tone turned sympathetic, and he glanced at Krem. “I know. But you need to do the right thing here.”

Arethin curled her left hand into a fist. “Sound the retreat,” she instructed. “I can deal with this.” 

They all looked at her. 

“What do you mean?” Bull asked.

“Just do it,” Arethin snapped, and she stepped out to the edge of the cliff so she was better able to get a look at the ship. She stretched out her hand. 

The Veil was malleable, bending and flexible. Pulling it open was different that mending it—it was much easier, the material of the Veil giving way like she had taken a knife to it. 

A hole tore over the Venatori ship, spitting out fire and water and confusing the Venatori advancing upon the Chargers. Arethin bore down harder, bent the Veil, pulled at a string, and caused part of the ship to burst into green flame. She tore the rift wider and wider, the Veil around the ship rippling and bending and breaking, and at last it began to sink. She could see more flames, holes in reality rent in the ship itself.

The dreadnought began to retreat, catching splashback from the rift and being attacked by Venatori on two sides. It was well away, and the Venatori ship began to sink. 

She took a deep breath, and undid what she had done, closing the rift once again, sewing it shut. It was so much harder to close rifts than to open them, as if the Veil was an imposition that did not need to be there. Sweat poured down Arethin's face, and she shook out her hand, which was beginning to cramp badly. She looked around, not quite sure what was happening. 

“Well,” she said, slightly breathless. “There's that taken care of. The Chargers--?”

“Retreated,” Iron Bull said. He looked somewhat ashen, as did Krem, and the two of them were staring at her with wide eyes. “That rift got the Venatori's attention—the Chargers'll be fine.”

She sighed and wiped her forehead. “Good.”

“You—what _are_ you?” Gatt exclaimed, and they all turned to him.

“Excuse me?” Arethin said. 

Gatt slowly shook his head and backed away. 

“It was a mistake to reach out our hand,” he said. “Hissrad—you cannot join with this! This—magic—is insanity!”

Arethin had had enough. “This magic,” she held out her marked hand, and Gatt cringed. “Is _ours_ , yours and mine. It comes from the mothers and fathers of our people. A gift from Fen'harel, who is said to be freer of slaves. If there was any kind of magic you shouldn't be afraid of, it's this.”

She stepped closer to him, her arm still out, and he stepped away. 

“You want to come here, bring your ship, and then try to kill Bull's people, _my_ people?” she snarled. “You didn't have to do this. You could have told us before now. You could have killed them yourselves. This was about a _message_.” 

“Hissrad...” Gatt glanced at Bull from the corners of his eyes. “Don't let her do this.”

“She isn't doing anything, Gatt, but talking,” Bull had an angry edge to his voice. “And she wasn't about to get the Chargers killed for your message.”

Gatt stared at Bull. “You'll be Tal-vashoth,” he snarled. “I told them—they thought you'd become Tal-vashoth already, but I said that you would never, but this--”

“You brought a dreadnought here,” Bull said. “You didn't have to. There were a hundred other ways you could have stalled out this operation. You didn't. How did that thing get here, Gatt? How many people will have seen it?”

“This isn't about anything other than the Venatori!” Gatt snarled.

“Is that so?” Arethin thrust out her hand, almost touching Gatt's face, and Gatt went utterly white. “Then why have the Qunari been sticking their noses into the eluvian network? Tell me, Gatt, or I'll summon a demon and make her tell me.”

His face distorted in rage. “Hissrad—we've fought together,” he appealed to Bull. “You know what's right. You know that _this_ isn't right!” 

“And you're such a big expert on what's right?” Krem snarled. “Tell us why you would have gotten them killed.”

“Gatt, what are the Qunari doing here?” Bull loomed over all of them, and Gatt stared up at him, anger clear in his face. 

“All that magic is going to destroy everything,” Gatt said at last. “We saw the Breach—we saw it tear open the sky! And then we heard about Corypheus, and Fen'harel—and _you_ \--” he spat at Arethin. “A mage, a mage that the bas in the south called Herald, that they called leader, that they looked up to—you would pollute them, we knew, and we would have been content to let it happen except for the Breach.”

He looked up at the sky, eyes straying to where the Breach had once been.

“The Breach changed everything,” he said. “Magic is dangerous. That's easy. But that? That— _thing_ in the sky—that was like nothing anyone had ever seen before. So we had to get involved.”

“But the Breach is closed,” Arethin said. “Why are you here now? Why interfere with the network?”

“Because of _you_!” Gatt snapped. “Oh, yes, perhaps the Breach is closed—but you can tear it open again. You walk with legends at your heels, and you cast a very, very long shadow.”

“Are you here to kill me?”

“No,” Gatt shook his head.

“No?” Both Bull and Arethin said at once.

“We know what happened when Andraste was martyred. Thousands would march in your name, spilling your poison. Even in death, things would turn your way. You turned one of our own against us,” he nodded at Bull, who scowled. “What else could you do?”

“I'm not going against the Qun, Gatt,” Bull said. “Unless going against the Qun means 'saving my men, who don't need to die,' then yeah, that's what I'm doing.” 

“That's pretty much what's going on, Chief,” Krem muttered.

“So are the Qunari going to invade? Is that the reason you're here, why you've been at our eluvians?” Arethin demanded.

“Enlightenment will come, one way or another,” Gatt said. 

“Does that mean an invasion?” Gatt pursed his lips, and Arethin pressed forward. “Tell me, Gatt.”

“No,” Gatt said. 

“Lavellan,” Iron Bull put a hand on Arethin's shoulder. “He probably doesn't know for sure.”

Gatt glared at Bull. 

“You sure about that, Chief?” Krem asked, glaring daggers at Gatt.

“It's how the Ben-hassrath work,” Bull said. “You only know as much as your mission. He knows he had to get to us, but other than that, he wouldn't know anything more.”

Gatt gave a stiff nod.

“They're going to come for you,” he told Arethin. “That's all I know, but it wasn't hard to figure out. Someday, someday soon, they will come for you and they will stop you.”

Arethin shook her head. “If they do, they must be more prepared than you,” she said. She lowered her hand. “Bull, what should we do with him?”

Bull looked at Gatt for a long time. “We knew each other,” he said at length. “You can let him go. Just this once. And if he stabs me in the back, you better get him right back.”

“If that's what you wish,” Arethin turned back to Gatt. “You heard him. Get out of my sight.”

Gatt stepped back and shook his head. “Thought you were better than this, Hissrad,” he said. 

“Yeah, well, guess you didn't know me as well as you thought, huh?” 

Gatt left them then, and they waited for the Chargers to return.

“Are you alright, Bull?” Arethin asked. 

Bull took a deep breath. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I'm okay. Nice trick, with the mark. I really like how you closed the tear after you opened it.”

“Me too.”

“That was dead creepy,” Krem said. “And I grew up in Tevinter.”

“Well, I'm regretting it now,” she hissed and shook out her hand. It was still cramping, and didn't seem to want to relax. Pain shot up her forearm.

The Chargers came up the hill to join them. 

“What happened?” Skinner asked. “Where'd Gatt get to? Why'd you sound the retreat?”

“It was a trap,” Bull said. “You'd've gotten killed if we hadn't.”

“And Gatt?” Dalish asked. 

“Gone.”

Bull's tone was such that the Chargers merely exchanged looks with each other and changed the subject. The group began to hike back to the eluvian.

“Are you alright?” Dalish asked Arethin, noticing her looking her hand over. 

“Fine,” Arethin shook out her hand. “Opening the Veil and closing it again hurt, is all.” she grimaced. 

“What did you do?” Skinner piped up. “We saw that rift open and close--”

“That was me,” Arethin said. “And I think the mark didn't agree with it.”

“Well, that's what you get for messin' around with it,” Skinner said.

When they got back to Skyhold, Arethin immediately went to see Solas. 

“I opened a rift with the mark,” she said, showing him her hand. “Not a half-healed rift—just a new rift in the Veil. Then I closed it again.”

“Let me see,” he said, his brow furrowed.

She held out her hand to him. She was still having a hard time uncurling her fingers all the way, the cramps not having eased.

Her gently unbent her fingers. She winced. A pulse of healing magic made the cramps relax, and she sighed. 

“Your body is not used to this kind of magic,” he said. “You should be careful.”

“You were the one who suggested I experiment with it.”

“Yes, but that does not mean being reckless.” he turned her hand over, traced the outline of the mark. 

“Is there anything wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No—the mark simply puts stresses on you that would not otherwise be there.”

“How bad will that get?” 

“If left long enough, it would eventually kill you, but at this rate, it will take some time.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You could still amputate your hand,” he informed her. 

“ _Without_ that?”

He shook his head. When he saw her expression, he added “It is not urgent at this moment. If the problem with the Veil is dealt with, it's entirely possible that your body will adjust, and you will no longer suffer from it.”

“How are you so sure?” she asked. “You've told me that, but...”

“The mark is an artifact of magic from before the Veil,” he explained. “It is...too much magic for anyone in a world with the Veil to use. Even I would have trouble with it, and it is a thing more attuned to me than anyone else.”

“And without the Veil...?”

“Without the Veil, the physical world and the Fade come together,” he said, taking on a slightly wistful expression. “Both are made stronger from the connection, like two threads that are twined together. If they are separated, each thread is weaker.”

“How come other artifacts don't have the same problem?”

“Over time, some artifacts adjust,” he said with a shrug. “And the fact remains that an eluvian or something similar is not bound to someone's body.”

“I see,” she took her hand away. It already felt much better, the pain easing tremendously. “You seem to have quite the bargain here.”

“Excuse me?”

“To take down the Veil. Either I do it, or I die or cut my hand off. A bargain that's in your favor.”

“The mark being on your hand is not my doing,”

“So you say,” she smiled at him to let him know she was teasing. “How does the world feel when there isn't a Veil?”

He paused, gazing into the middle distance. “It is...hard to describe for one who has not experienced it,” he said. “This world...it is less real than it used to be. As if everything were made of paper.”

“What about the Fade?”

“It suffers the same. Only, because it is built in the mind, it is easier to understand its frailty.” 

“And us? The people who live here?”

“You were born into a world of spun glass,” he said. “Reality has always been fragile, but it is the difference between ice that is stable and ice that is too thin to stand on. It was hard to tell if you were even real.”

“And are we?” she peered at him, her eyes narrowed. 

“It did not seem so to me at first.”

“How flattering.”

“That changed,” he added. “You especially changed my opinion.”

“Me? Why me?” 

“You...make an effort to understand,” he said. 

“We have some things in common,” she reminded him. 

“Yes,” he said. “I know.”

“Well...” she said. “With luck, we will make things right. Our world will become as it should be. And then—then we will see.” she smiled at him. “And we must be real to do that.”

“I suppose you must,” he agreed, giving her a tiny smile of his own.


	16. When Our Masters' Work Is Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of these settings are a little familiar, aren't they?

The council was shocked to hear of the possibility of a Qunari invasion, and again, they brought as many people as possible to try and solve the problem.

“We haven't found anything,” Leliana said. “But if they are simply scouting ahead, it's unlikely that we would.”

“The Ben-hassrath are better even than your spies, Nightingale?” Briala asked, her eyebrows raised and a smirk playing about her lips.

Leliana simply nodded. “They are more ruthless than anything I could imagine,” she said. 

Briala was taken aback. 

“Well, if it was a full-on invasion, they'd be pretty obvious about it,” Bull said. “So you might be able to head it off.”

Merrill covered her mouth with one hand. “We've been having more of the strange eluvian problems,” she said.

“It is entirely possible for the Qunari to re-open an eluvian and break into the network,” Solas said. “The network was never as far as Par Vollen, but it reached as far north as Tevinter--”

“And the Qunari would already have a vested interest in dealing with Tevinter,” Dorian said. “I don't think any Tevinter could have re-activated an eluvian--they'd have mentioned it--but it's more than likely that someone has kept one in good shape.”

“Meaning that the Qunari may acquire one, yes.”

“So,” Arethin said. “What do we do?”

“Corypheus is still the main priority,” Vivienne said. “The Qunari appear to be moving much slower, and with less disastrous intent.” 

“I agree,” Leliana said. “The Qunari seek to conquer. Corypheus seeks to destroy.”

“Corypheus is also in possession of an extremely powerful artifact he has little idea how to use,” Solas said. “He must be dealt with before anything else—I would not advise waiting.”

“Is there any possibility of allying with the Qunari?” Cassandra asked. “Any at all? Could we deter them from invading--”

“No, not likely,” Bull said. “The big problem is—well, the Qun kind of works like the Chantry. They're both ideas that need to spread.”

“The Chant of Light is rather different than the Qun,” Dorian said.

“How so?” Solas said. “They both involve imposing a foreign ideology upon people who do not wish it.”

“That is not true,” Cassandra said. “The Chant has never been forced--”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Ambassador Yara said. “We don't really need to have a lesson in the Exalted Marches, do we?” 

“Or the annulment of Dairsmuid?” Fiona asked.

“Fiona, darling, as usual you misunderstand things,” Vivienne said, tutting. 

“Really? So you can somehow justify wholesale slaughter of innocent people for the terrible crime of letting their families see them?”

“People have many justifications for such things,” Solas said. 

“Enough,” Arethin said. “Iron Bull, there's really no stopping them if they get it into their heads to invade?”

“Not really, no,” Bull said. “And the south has less of a chance than Tevinter against them. Tevinter and the Qunari are pretty evenly matched, hate to say it—the south? Not so much.”

“Perfect,” Arethin sighed. “Would they just ignore Tevinter entirely and invade us? Could they do that?”

“If they had access to your eluvians, they could,” Bull said. “As it is now, it'd be a lot harder, but that dreadnought...” he shook his head. 

“It's interesting—I never got the impression that they would try and take the south before Tevinter,” Dorian said, his brow furrowed. “Of course, if they did, they could try and take Tevinter from two sides, not just one, but still...it's a rather extreme strategy, and there are many ways it could go wrong.”

“The Breach spooked them,” Bull said. “That's way more dangerous than any of the crap the 'Vints have been doing for the last hundred years.”

“How do we prepare for them?” Leliana said.

“We'd need to have more information first," Bull said. “We can't do anything if we don't have that.” 

“We should look into the eluvian network,” Arethin said.

Merrill nodded. “I'll try and find who's been using it,” she said. “I've already told some people to keep an eye on the ones that have gone dark, and we're guarding the active one.”

“Orzammar will send more people to help with that,” Ambassador Vhelan said. 

The peace talks in Halam'shiral were still not for some time, and they still had minimal information to go on about either the Venatori or the Qunari. Getting alliances in Orlais was cruicial—Briala could only do so much. Giuseppina had contacts within the remnants of the Chantry, much like Giselle, Leliana, and Cassandra. It was important that the business with the Qunari be handled relatively quietly, so the Alliance did not lose what ties they had gained. 

Arethin suggested that they see what eluvians had been tampered with themselves, meanwhile, Leliana and Josephine could deal with Orlais. Leliana could also investigate the Venatori, with some assistance from Dorian and Vivienne, and with those things covered, this freed Arethin to investigate the eluvian network. Merrill agreed to show her which ones were the real problems.

Arethin followed Merrill into the Crossroads. With her she took Sera, Iron Bull, Varric and Solas, as they would be the least harmed by the affects of the place. 

Everyone except for Arethin was still uncertain about Solas, but the fact remained that he, like Merrill, knew the eluvian network very well, including the dark ones that hadn't yet been explored. He also had a working knowledge of how eluvians functioned, unlike the other mages. 

It took two whole hours to reach one of the problem eluvians. The Crossroads were absolutely massive, with some eluvians only existing to take one to other parts of it. Even though they shortened traveling time considerably, in some ways going through the Crossroads was like taking a hike through the wilderness, especially considering how many ruins and overgrown plants there were. 

“Here's one of the ones that went dark,” Merrill gestured to the eluvian, which was indeed still dark. “We never awakened it to begin with, but I knew when it activated.”

"How?" Varric asked, raising his eyebrows. "You only just got it to work when I last saw you, now you know when they turn on and off?"

Merrill nodded. "You have to be--um--well, I suppose attuned to the Crossroads and the network is the way to put it," she explained. "If one wakes up, it sends a sort of...ripple through the Fade, like a rock thrown into a pond. That's how I can tell if one is working or not."

“This would have lead further north,” Solas said, touching the frame. 

“How far north?” Arethin asked. 

“Very far—well into Tevinter territory.”

“So we wouldn't have bothered with them anyway,” Merrill said with a nod. “I see. How did you know where it would go?”

“The frame,” Solas said. “Do you see?” he pointed to the top of the frame, which was inscribed with plants and animals. “The eluvians within the crossroads have images on them which tell one where they might go.”

“They couldn't just write on 'em?” Sera demanded. 

“Concepts in Elvhenan were more easily inscribed in images, rather than words,” Solas explained. 

“But there are still books,” Merrill said.

Solas nodded. “Yes, but as I understand it, written Elvhenan was...recent. It originally began as hieroglyphs and images. Much of the meaning would also have a reflection in the Fade.” 

“Can you wake it up?” Arethin asked, glancing from Merrill to Solas. “Maybe we can see where it leads.”

Merrill pursed her lips, examining the eluvian. “Usually I try to activate ones that I know where the destination is,” she said. “But..not always.”

There was a thrum of magic in the air, and the eluvian lit up, glowing soft purple. 

“Thank you, Keeper,” Arethin said. 

Merrill beamed. 

“Come on, then,” she said. 

They came out to a large stone bridge. It was nighttime, and the building before them had several windows that were alight. It was a curious place, some of the stonework recent, but mostly it was old. 

Solas examined the place intently as they continued on.

“What is it?” Arethin asked.

“I recognize this place,” he said, and they all looked at him.

“Where are we?”

“This was one of my fortresses,” Solas said, frowning. 

“What would the Qunari be doing here?”

He shook his head. “I could not say.”

They went forward, but very carefully. Though there were lights in the fortress, there did not seem to be anyone there. 

Bull shook his head, frowning. 

“Something wrong?” Arethin asked. 

“This is weird,” he said. 

“How so?”

“There should be more people here...they all left in a hurry to leave the lights on. They might have seen us coming."

Arethin fingered her staff, wary.

They came to a huge pile of broken glass. 

“What's all this?” Sera muttered, kicking one of the shards with her boot. 

Merrill spotted an empty frame. “Eluvians!” she exclaimed, looking around and seeing more empty frames. “They're all broken eluvians.” 

“Where did they get all of these?” Arethin knelt down to brush one of the eluvian shards with a hand. 

“Ruins to the north, perhaps," Solas said. 

“And they're all just...here,” Merrill murmured, picking up a shard.

“Isn't it dangerous to leave magic just lyin' around like this?” Sera demanded. “Thought the Qunari didn't like all of that.”

“They shouldn't,” Bull said. “Most magical artifacts are kept under lock and key, not just...lying around.”

“Then this doesn't make sense,” Arethin said.

“No,” Bull agreed. “Not unless something's gone wrong.”

They continued on, past the eluvians. The place was still empty, and things were left lying around, left in a hurry. They came at last to a large, open chamber.

The room was vast, the ceiling vaulting far overhead.

On a ledge above the room, there was an eluvian that glowed faintly. 

“That one's active,” Arethin said, pointing.

They started towards the active eluvian, when someone came through the other side. On the ledge, a huge Qunari woman appeared. She was tall, even for a Qunari, dressed in heavy Qunari armor.

The woman narrowed her eyes. 

“You,” she said, looking down at Arethin. 

Arethin stepped forward. 

“What is this?” she demanded. “Who are you?”

“Viddasala,” Bull breathed.

“You, the one they call Herald,” the Viddasala curled her lip. “But for you, we could have guided the south along the peaceful path. Now must come the way of blades.”

“Is that so?” Arethin said, folding her arms.

The Viddasala nodded.

“Couldn't you have just talked to us first?” Varric asked. “The Arishok in Kirkwall didn't go for invasion for years.”

The Viddasala ignored him, centering her gaze on Arethin. “Surely you know this magic is unnatural,” she said. “Had you any sense of the correct path, you would remove yourself from this.”

“Why?” Arethin asked, scowling. “Because _you_ don't like magic?”

“Magic is dangerous. It is wrong. He who set the Veil knew this—that is why it exists.”

“No,” Solas stepped forward. “That is not true.”

The Viddasala stared down at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “We have heard that you believe your bas god walks among you,” she said. “Or your ancestor. This cannot be true.” 

“How would you know?” Arethin asked, raising her eyebrow. “You don't know magic. You do not know us. You choose to fear what you don't understand.”

The Viddasala's lip curled. “If you will not see the truth, you cannot be made to,” she said, shaking her head. “Kill them,” the Viddasala turned her back on them.

The Qunari turned on them. 

Arethin's group backed up.

The Qunari did not slow down, did not stop. Sera sunk her arrows into many of them, and only when she started aiming for throats and eye sockets did that do more than slow them down. 

At last, however, the Qunari were defeated. Only one was still alive, vainly trying to staunch the flow of blood from his abdomen.

Arethin stepped on the Qunari's chest. “Why are you here?” she demanded. “How did you waken the eluvians?” 

The Qunari snarled and spat at her. 

“ _How_?”

The Qunari died, and Arethin sighed.

“Now what?” she muttered.

“Who was that, Bull?” Sera asked, pointing to where the Viddasala had left.

“The Viddasala,” Bull rumbled. “She's the one you talk to about magic.”

“And she's here to...what? Why would she be here?”

“Scout ahead, most likely,” Bull explained.

“Come on, then!” Sera exclaimed. “We need to find her!” 

They went through the eluvian that she had gone through, back into the Crossroads. 

“Is there a way to track her?” Arethin asked. “I don't know where we are...”

“This place isn't—I've never been to this part before,” Merrill said, looking around. “I bet if we find the closest one that's lit up, we'll find her.”

“Or the one that has most recently used magic,” Solas pointed out.

Merrill nodded. She looked around, till she spotted an eluvian that was a hair brighter than the other ones. “There!” she said, pointing, and they hurried over to it.

Merrill ran her hands over the eluvian, and it blinked back to life again. They went through it, and found themselves in a massive cave, lit by lyrium glow.. 

“Where are we?” Arethin asked.

Merrill shook her head. “Not near the Deep Roads that have been resettled,” she said. They explored the cave, and found that it had signs of being recently occupied, but could find no sign of the occupants. A little further in, and they found a rather curious anachronism.

Against the wall, a large statue of Mythal rose, flanked by a pair of wolves.

“Elvhen ruins?” Arethin muttered. She turned to Solas. “Do you know this place?” she asked.

Solas shook his head. “No, but Mythal had outposts in many places,” he touched the side of one of the wolf statues. 

“Why are there wolves?”

“We were...allies. And even after we had parted ways, wolf motifs figured greatly in her artwork.” his mouth twisted, expression uncertain. 

“So this was something of Mythal's?”

He inclined his head. “It must have been—perhaps something of an exploratory nature.”

They explored the caves, finding more strange anachronisms indicating that the Elvhen had been here a very long time ago. However, they found no people, at least not at first. There were many indications of people having been there recently, but it took them over an hour to find the first living soul in the caves.

They stumbled across him quite by accident, a human man in plain clothing, who was very startled to see them.

The man stared at them, then backed up several steps.

“Be easy,” Arethin said. “We aren't here to hurt you.” most likely. 

“Can you tell us what's going on here?” Merrill asked.

“I—well,” he glanced at all of them. “I'm—I'm with the Qunari,” he admitted.

“They passed through here too?” Merrill asked, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Could be more of the Viddasala's people,” Bull said. 

The man nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, that's right,” he said. “And you're—who are you?”

“Who do you think would be interested in Qunari meddling with eluvians?” Arethin asked, raising an eyebrow.

The man swallowed, and paled visibly. “The...Herald?” he whispered, eyes drifting down to her left hand.

Arethin snorted. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“But your hand--”

Arethin raised her marked hand. “True. But I'm no Herald.”

“What are you doing here?” Bull asked.

“I—I'm here to mine,” he said. 

“For lyrium?”

The man nodded. 

“Interesting...” Arethin frowned. “It makes sense that they'd start mining it for themselves.”

“What...what are you here to do?” the man asked. “Are you here to stop the Viddasala?”

Bull glanced at him sharply. “Is that important to you?”

“What the Viddasala wants to do, it's madness,” he said. 

“What is it she wants to do?” 

The man shifted from foot to foot and bit his lip, avoiding their eyes. “I don't know, not for sure. It's about magic, those—magic mirrors--”

“Eluvians,” Arethin corrected.

“And...the Herald.” the man looked at Arethin's hand again. “You. She's angry about you.” 

“Big surprise there,” Sera muttered.

“I see. And what exactly does she intend to do about me?”

“That's—that's the problem,” the man wrung his hands, and they could see lyrium-flecked dirt under his fingernails. “I joined the Qunari to get away from all the madness with the Chantry--!”

“The Chantry?” Arethin stared at him. “What do you mean?”

The man shook his head. “The Viddasala—she's made some kind of partnership with that Divine Themistoclea woman,” he said. “Dunno why, they hate each other at the best of times.”

The others looked at each other, worried. 

“I joined the Qunari because I saw what magic could do,” the man continued. “I know its dangers...but this...” he sighed. 

Arethin snorted. “If you joined the Qunari to be rid of magic, you can't know very much about it,” she informed him. 

He frowned, looking confused. “Aren't you...didn't Andraste say--”

“You're not really good at being Viddethari if you still talk about what Andraste said,” Iron Bull pointed out.

The man sighed. “I suppose not. I've not been very good at a lot of this. Look—the Viddasala and the Divine—I don't know what they're doing. But I know it isn't good--” he shuddered. “Not with those mirrors. Not with the lyrium.”

They left the man to his own devices, and he pointed them to the pits where they mined the lyrium. They continued to find strange Elvhen structures, confirming that this place had been some sort of outpost of Mythal's, long ago. The Qunari had even set up inside some of the structures, making notes on the statues and even the architecture. 

“If the Viddasala has a continuing interest in eluvians, it is reasonable that she would be interested in Elvhen ruins,” Solas said. “And if her quest for lyrium lead her to both, it would make sense she would be here.”

“Do you think there's anything here other than eluvians that might be dangerous?” Arethin asked, but Solas shook his head. 

“Any weapons or artifacts of greater power would have been kept hidden in Mythal's temples. Likely this was more of an observation outpost—a way to observe dwarves or Titans.”

“Titans?”

“I am not certain if they still exist,” Solas admitted. “They were—creatures the Evanuris did battle with. They have a connection to dwarves, but I don't know exactly what the connection is.” 

“Do you know anything about these?” Arethin asked Varric.

Varric shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “I'm know about as much about dwarf history as I do about magic—which isn't a whole lot.”

They explored the caves further, and decided that avoiding any more Qunari here would be a good idea. The fight at the old fortress had been hard enough, and it was entirely likely that this place would have far more people in it. They soon came across mining equipment and corresponding massive chasms and veins of lyrium.

Looking down into the bottom of the mine, they saw a huge system of machines, veins of lyrium standing out in stark blue down into the deep chasm.

“We need to go back,” Arethin said. “We can't do anything about this now.”

“Can't we blow it up?” Sera asked.

“If we wanted to deal with another large number of very angry Qunari, we could,” Arethin said. Sera frowned, this prospect apparently unappealing to her. 

“Maybe Red can send someone to do something about it,” Bull pointed out. “She'd be better at doing it quietly.” 

“I can be quiet,” Sera grumbled.

“I'm sure you can, but there are party members here who can't be,” Arethin said, gesturing to herself, and then sending a significant look towards Bull and Solas. Solas only rolled his eyes, but Sera grinned. “In any case, we should return before they notice we're here.” 

They made their way back through the caves, until they reached the eluvian again.

“Can you make this one go dark so no one can get through it?” Arethin asked Merrill when they were back in the Crossroads.

“I can break it,” Merrill said. 

“Do it,” Arethin advised. “We don't need more people coming through here.”

Merrill nodded.

They went back the way they had come, to the area of the Crossroads they recognized, then made their way back to Skyhold, where they convened everyone and explained their story.

“Well?” Cassandra asked. “What have you found?”

“The Qunari aren't invading, yet,” Arethin said. 

“But...?”

“ _But_ they're gearing up for it,” she said, the set of her mouth grim.

Everyone was in immediate uproar.

“We cannot fight Corypheus and the Qunari at the same time!” Josephine exclaimed.

“An invasion?” Ambassador Vhelan said. “How can you be sure?”

“Enough, everyone!” Arethin raised her hand. “They've been activating eluvians, scouring Elvhen ruins for useful artifacts, and trying to mine their own lyrium.”

“How did they get around us?” Ambassador Yara wanted to know.

“They used eluvians very far from the ones you have been using,” Solas explained. “Quickly activated then shut down again. Remember, the network extends to the northern coast, far beyond the current scope of the Dalish. The Crossroads itself inhabits a similar space—the eluvians so far to the north would be far away from the ones you frequent, and would hold little interest besides.”

“Why are they mining lyrium?” Vhelan asked.

Arethin shook her head. “For their own mages, we think.”

“It's a very volatile and useful substance,” Vhelan said, leaning her chin on her hands. “There are several uses they could have besides for mages.” her brow was furrowed. “However, if we can't anticipate exactly what they need it for...”

“I will have scouts inspect the lyrium mines,” Leliana promised.

“We need to place more guards around the eluvians,” Merrill said, wringing her hands. “I don't like the Qunari just being able to get into any of them...”

“Neither do I,” Arethin said. “If they knew the eluvians for Skyhold or Orzammar...”

“Some of Orzammar's soldiers will guard the eluvians,” the Orzammar ambassador said. 

“And the Dalish as well,” Yara agreed. 

They decided that observation was the best way to go for now. They would track the eluvian network more closely, and try to keep track of any eluvians that seemed suspicious. There was little else they could do without more information.


	17. One Must Rule Oneself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so remember those relationship tags?

After the meeting concluded, Arethin found Cassandra near the training yards. She was doing the oddest thing. She would do an exercise, stop in the middle, then start with another one. Periodically she would growl to herself, clearly frustrated. It was so strange that Arethin stopped in her tracks and watched her. 

In spite of herself, Arethin was curious. “What are you doing?” she asked at length, after Cassandra had continued to do this for several minutes. 

Cassandra stopped and looked round, as if only just noticing her. She shook her head. “Everything is moving too fast,” she said. “First all this, and then the possibility of the Qunari invading?” she swung her blade, and it stuck fast in the training dummy. “How can the Chantry have come to this?”

“The Chantry?” Arethin frowned and walked closer to her. “What have they to do with anything?”

Cassandra yanked her sword from the dummy with a growl. “The Divine is dead. An impostor sits upon the throne, but we cannot do anything about it—Justinia's Inquisition could not even gain enough support to stand on its own.” she hung her head, scowling.

“And would you want to?”

“I would--” Cassandra started, then stopped, putting her sword down. She sighed and stared out over the battlements. “I do not know anymore. We hold a seat at your council, but we are only there so the Chantry can claim to have a voice.”

“Do you feel you do not?”

“No, I—I do not know what I feel anymore,” Cassandra admitted.

Arethin regarded her. “Why not?”

“We were meant to bring order.” Cassandra walked over to where Arethin stood. “But we did not. First the Seekers—my own Order—brought chaos, brought a usurper. Then—you came. I thought you our savior, but you...even if the Maker sent you, you did not want to save the Chantry.”

“No.”

Cassandra paused for a moment. When she spoke again, it was with great hesitation. “If you _were_ sent by the Maker, I began to think—what if we had done wrong?” 

“I have little patience for hand-wringing over whether the Chantry has done wrong or not.” Arethin said, folding her arms. “You have. In this instance, it is simple.”

Cassandra closed her eyes. “I am sorry, for everything that happened to you,” Cassandra said. “For everything the Chantry did to your people. I...I am sorry.”

“Sorry does not repair what was done.” 

“I know.” Cassandra looked up, towards the battlements. “I seek the truth,” she said. “And the truth is...” her shoulders slumped. “What I had worked for...all that I had tried to do under the Chantry...we were wrong.” she turned away from Arethin. “All of it. It was wrong.”

Arethin blinked, surprised, but held her gaze. “You truly think so?”

“We have torn families apart. Hurt those who were innocent, those who were helpless. It is _our_ negligence that started these wars—our responsibility was to the mages, and we failed them. Our responsibility to keep our own house, and we failed.” she gritted her teeth. “While we were squabbling, a magister of old—one of the great enemies of the Chantry—rose to power, and who has risen up against him?” she laughed and gave a shake of her head. “Elvhen myths, and the dwarves, and the mages who we said would only cause more harm. We did not repair this. We did nothing but make it worse.”

“I see.” Arethin looked at Cassandra, saw the defeat in her expression. She considered her for a long moment. “I don't think my people can forgive the Chantry everything it has done,” Arethin said. “We can't forgive Orlais, and we can't forgive the people who stood by and let all of it happen. Even people who weren't directly hurt—Solas and Felassan and the other Elvhen, probably could not forgive what was done to the people who came after them.”

Cassandra didn't say anything. 

Arethin was quiet for a long time, considering her next words. “Our people cannot forgive each other. Only hope for peace between us.”

“I see,” Cassandra said, her voice soft.

“But I can forgive you.”

Cassandra looked up. 

“What?”

Arethin met her eyes. “One person is not responsible for the mistakes of so many, over so many years. You have only ever tried to protect the Divine, have you not? You are here, not with Elthina, helping us to repair the world. You know the harm you have caused.”

“I do.”

“Then yes. I will forgive you.” 

“But—your people--” Cassandra bit her lip. “Your son--”

“It was not by your hand he was murdered." and it was true, almost to her surprise. "Your Order and your church and your laws did it, but it was not _you_.”

“Laws,” Cassandra made a disgusted face. “I cared so much for those laws. Laws that let children be murdered, but true monsters like Elthina or Lambert do as they pleased.”

“And you don't anymore?”

“How can I? The Chantry has lead itself to its own destruction—I have tried and tried to hold it together, but it refused to be whole.” she shook her head. 

“Well, then.” Arethin didn't know what to say to that. “There you have it.”

Cassandra seemed to know how she felt. She sighed. “And now there are the Qunari.”

“Yes. There are.”

“All of this—all of this—could have been avoided if only...”

“You don't know that.”

“Don't I? We were supposed to protect the south, spread the Chant, ensure peace, but...”

“Cassandra.” Something in her voice made Cassandra look at her. “You don't know what could have been done. Maybe you could have solved it. Maybe you would have made it worse. You can't know. You can just change what is done now.”

At last, Cassandra smiled. 

“Yes. I suppose I can.”

Hesitantly, Arethin smiled back. 

 

Iron Bull came to Solas' office, which was unusual.

“So. Why exactly is it that Mythal liked wolves so much?”

“Excuse me?” Solas glanced up at Bull, then looked away again.

“In the lyrium mines, her shrine had wolves next to it. Why?”

“We were...old allies.”

“You mentioned. But you stopped?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We no longer had the same goals,” Solas said with a shrug, avoiding Bull's eyes. 

“Is that so?”

Solas finally looked up at him. “And many other things, as well.”

“Such as?”

Solas leaned his elbows on his desk, regarding Bull with narrowed eyes. “Why are you so interested now?”

“I think there's still a lot of things you haven't told us,” Bull said, eyes following Solas' every move.

“I need not explain all of my past to you.” Solas' voice was measured and even, but his shoulders were tense. “As you have not explained all of your past to us.”

“No. But I don't think that everyone needs to hear all the details.”

Solas nodded. “Then we understand one another.” he looked at Bull. “Choosing another path is always difficult.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Hm,” Bull rumbled, his brow furrowed. “And you have a lot of experience with that, do you?”

“In some ways.” Solas looked at Bull, examining him as if he hadn't quite seen him before.

After that conversation, Iron Bull was made more of a habit of visiting Solas. He would come to the office, ask Solas a question or two, then leave. 

“Why are you so interested now, when you were not before?” Solas asked him, after Bull had inquired into Solas' past yet again, wondering about the particular relationship between him and Mythal. 

“When someone says they're a thousand years old, and then actually acts like it, I'm gonna be interested,” Bull said. 

“Is curiosity your only motivation?” 

“Sort of,” Bull leaned back in the chair he occupied. “I mean, it's probably pretty important to know about someone who's literally a legend to some people.”

“Perhaps. You should know how rumors spread, however.”

“Once you get into 'changing the laws of the world' I think you've kind of gone beyond rumors.” 

“A fair point,” Solas sighed. “And what of you? We have both taken different paths, but your choice to leave your bonds behind was made only recently. How are you feeling?”

Bull frowned at the change in topic, not wanting Solas to weasel out of talking about his past. But at the same time, Solas was the first one who'd asked Bull directly about his feelings on the subject of being Tal-vashoth. 

“Hmm,” Bull rumbled, thinking his answer over. “Never thought I'd turn Tal-vashoth, that's for sure.”

“I am not sure you even qualify as Tal-vashoth, not with the way you describe them,” Solas said.

“Well, that's a fuckin' relief,” Bull rolled his eye. 

“You are not the mad brute that other Tal-vashoth can be. You have not lost your mind. If a Tal-vashoth is defined by madness, does that not mean you are not one of them?” 

“Just because it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it won't,” Bull couldn't help a slight shudder at the thought. “I don't know why it happened to them. The Qun has some explanation, but it doesn't explain how Vashoth can live without going savage. I don't know what the difference is.” 

Solas shrugged. “I could not tell you. Perhaps it is something within the minds of those who turn Tal-vashoth, or perhaps it is something in their environment and the people around them. Unless all those under the Qun are freed, there is no way to tell. I would say that the Tal-vashoth turn 'mad' because the Qun taught them nothing else--but that clearly does not happen to all who turn their back on the Qun.”

“So I can't be sure it won't happen to me.”

“Do you really think those around you would let that occur?” Solas asked. “Judging from my own example, Lavellan seems quite determined to assist her friends in the manner she deems fit.”

Iron Bull chuckled. “Yeah, she did kind of talk you into going along with her, didn't she?” 

Solas smiled. “Precisely. You have her, and your Chargers, and the others...and you have me, for what that is worth to you. I don't believe any combination of those elements would allow you to fall prey to madness.”

“You included, huh?”

“I have experience with such matters.”

“Going to explain that?”

Solas considered. “Yours are not the only people told that their lives depended upon the rules those in power set for them,” he said at last. “More than that is...a lengthy explanation.”

“Are we talking you talking about the Fade long, or what?” 

“Longer,” Solas ducked his head and hid a tiny smile. 

Bull snorted. “Right. Well, how do you prevent sudden onset madness? 'Cos so far I haven't heard a whole lot from anyone that helps with that.”

“Distracting yourself from the thought that it will happen helps,” Solas said.

“Skyhold's low on dancing girls. What've you got?”

“Pawn to H4,” Solas said. “Your move.”

Bull stared at him for a long moment. “We don't even have a board.” 

“Too complicated for a savage Tal-vashoth?” 

Bull scowled. “No idea how you can still be such a smug asshole when Lavellan put you under house arrest...fine. Pawn to D5.”


	18. Beings Brighter Than Have Been

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for a field trip. to the tragedy field

Arethin came upon Felassan and Solas arguing furiously with each other. She could only follow a word or two, the ancient Elvhen being nigh-incomprehensible and completely different than Dalish, but she could tell the tone well enough. 

Felassan stormed past her and slammed the door behind them, his face as dark as a thundercloud. 

“What was that about?” Arethin asked.

Solas leaned heavily on his desk.

“Solas?”

“A friend of mine—a spirit—needs help,' he said. “Felassan feels it is too risky to help them.”

Arethin raised her eyebrows. She would not have thought that Felassan's words were ones of caution. “A spirit? What do you mean?”

“I felt its cry in the Fade,” he explained. “Summoned by mages—presumably ones that are not allies with anyone in particular.”

He began to pace, restless and worried. 

“Why doesn't Felassan want to?”

“The spirit—was summoned to the Exalted Plains,” he said. 

Arethin let out a breath.

“There's an eluvian out near the Plains,” Arethin said. “But it's full of Celene and Dubois' troops fighting each other.”

"I know,” Solas said, scowling at the ground. 

Arethin began to pace. “There's some Dalish presence there,” she said. “We might be able to help.”

Solas nodded. “Will you?” 

She nodded. “We'll go.” she said. 

He let out a long sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said. 

“We'll take Felassan,” she said. “If it is some kind of trap, he clearly doesn't want to do it.”

Solas didn't respond to the jibe, only nodded, distracted. He rocked back on his heels, expression a thousand miles away. 

Arethin went to find Felassan. Fortunately, he found her first.

“Lavellan,” he said, catching up to her in the hall.

“Felassan, good, I--”

“If you're going, I'm coming with you,” he said. 

“Of course. Why wouldn't you?” she blinked at him. 

“I thought you might...never mind,” he shook his head. “We need to be careful here.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why? What are you worried about?”

“The spirit, it might...” he shifted from foot to foot. “It might die.”

“Yes, that could happen,” Arethin nodded. “We'll try and save it--”

“No, that isn't the point,” he said quickly.

“Then what is?”

“We aren't—we aren't used to death, not the same way you are,” he said. “He—just be careful.”

“I was not planning on being anything but careful.”

“Alright. Good.” he brushed his hair away from his forehead, just as distracted as Solas. “Fine. Good.”

The Exalted Plains were dry grassland, a place where the river ran muddy and dark, a drought and unseasonable warmth making the area feel very strange to be in. 

There was a small Dalish presence about the local eluvian, but that was the extent of either Dalish or Alliance presence in the area. Mostly, the Orlesians kept fighting amongst themselves. There was another independent group that called themselves Freemen of the Dales, but they weren't really in enough force in the Plains to bother anyone. 

“Be careful,” the local Keeper, Hawen, told Arethin. “There's soldiers and bandits and more around here. A few rifts, too.”

“I'll look into it,” she promised, and she, Felassan and Solas were off. 

“We shouldn't be here,” Felassan grumbled, glaring at Solas' back as he urged his reindeer ahead of them. 

“Felassan, it will be fine,” Arethin told him. 

Felassan lapsed into silence, staring hard at Solas' back, and slowly shook his head. Arethin sighed lightly, but was unable to pry any more information out of him. Both of them were very closemouthed about their disagreement, not offering much of an explanation. Solas was pale and worried, and Felassan was much the same.

The Plains were crowded with ruins, both of modern Orlesian houses, and of older Dalish structures. Some of the Dalish structures were combined with even older Elvhenan architecture, and there were some signs of Dalish excavation of certain areas. 

“Have you ever been here before?” Arethin rode up beside Solas and asked him. He was tense and nervous, and she wanted to try and take his mind off of things.

He nodded, looking distracted “Yes, very long ago,” he said. “It was very different then. I've dreamed here, once or twice.”

“What was it like?”

“In Elvhenan, or the Dales?”

“Elvhenan,” Arethin said. “Hearing about the Dales is...very sad.”

“There was a city built here,” he explained. “A small one.”

“I remember,” Felassan piped up. “It was friendly to us.”

“It would have to be, to be so close to the mountains.”

“What was it like?” Arethin asked.

Felassan and Solas exchanged a look. 

“The cities of Elvhenan are...hard to describe,” Solas said. “This city was a home to many who favored plants and botany, I believe.”

Felassan nodded. “Yes, tree mages,” he smiled a bit at the memory. “They made so many beautiful flowers...all gone, now,” he snorted and looked around. “For _farmland._ ”

They neared the river, and Solas' back stiffened.

“What is it?” Arethin asked.

“I can feel--” he rushed forward, and Arethin and Felassan hurried to catch up with him. They crested a ridge, and Arethin came to a stop, spotting a huge Pride demon inside a crude summoning circle by the bank of the river.

“Oh, no,” Solas murmured, dismounting his reindeer. Felassan dismounted as well and grabbed his arm. “No, no, no...”

“Solas...” Felassan cautioned.

“What is it?” Arethin got off her hart to stand next to them and stared at the demon in the circle. “Is that...your friend?”

“They corrupted it,” Solas hissed, his face white with rage. “Summoned it, turned it against its purpose--”

Someone came over the hill. A man with sallow skin in a ragged mages' robe looked them over, and spotted the staff on Arethin's back.

“A mage!” he exclaimed. “You're not with the bandits?”

“We are with the Alliance,” Arethin said. “What were you doing out here?' 

“Do you have lyrium potions?” the man asked. “Most of us are exhausted. We've been trying to control that demon--”

“You _summoned_ that demon!” Solas spat, lurching forward, only stopped by Felassan's death grip on his arm. “Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time! You _corrupted_ it!”

“I know it can be confusing to someone who has not studied demons--”

Arethin and Felassan glanced at each other. Waves of heat began to radiate off of Solas, and the grass began to brown under his feet. 

“I would stop right now if I were you,” Felassan said, now actively trying to yank Solas backwards with both hands, but Solas refused to be moved. 

“Listen to me,” the man insisted. “I was the foremost expert on demons in the Kirkwall Circle--”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Solas snarled, and yanked out of Felassan's hold. Felassan stumbled backwards, and Solas stalked forwards, advancing on the man. “You summoned it—to protect you from the bandits? You ordered it to kill?”

The man nodded. He was sweating. 

Solas looked back at Arethin. “They turned it against its nature, but if we break the circle, it should return to its normal state. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

“That circle is the only thing stopping it from attacking us!” the man exclaimed. 

“That is enough from you,” Arethin informed the man. “Solas—we'll do what we can. I can't promise anything if we break the circle and it attacks anyway.”

Solas nodded stiffly. 

Felassan approached Solas again, asking him something in Elvhen, but Solas didn't reply. 

The unfamiliar mage and his comrades hung back, watching as they dismantled the circle. The Pride demon was hostile, and periodically spat lightning at them, but the lightning never hit, as it didn't seem to be aimed very well. The circle was constructed from pure magic and clumsily-enchanted stones, the mark of a desperate mage, low on resources. There were not even any magical defenses preventing the breaking of the barrier, and the circle's enchantments were already fairly frayed. 

With a few quick force spells, Solas immediately broke several of the stones at once, and the circle went dark. Arethin braced herself for an attack, but none came. A cloud of sparks surrounded the demon, and when they cleared, all that was left was a much smaller spirit, in the shape of a woman.

Everything about the woman was dark, from her hair to her skin to her robes, as if she were made from black paper. The only thing of color about her person were her eyes, which were not so much eyes as gleaming green lights set into deep sockets where the eyes would be on any other person.

Solas kneeled down before her. Felassan hung back, biting his lip so hard that it began to bleed. He wiped his mouth, eyes never leaving Solas.

Solas and the spirit had a soft conversation in Elvhen, one that Arethin only caught a few words of. Felassan was looking very pale. 

Eventually, Solas reached out and cradled its face in his hands. The spirit's shape crumbled into ash and blew away on the breeze. He stayed there for a long moment, his hands out. 

Felassan approached him. 

“It was right,” he murmured. “We helped it. You helped it.”

“I know.” Solas said. “Now I must endure.”

“As we all do, my friend.”

“I'm sorry, Solas,” Arethin said quietly, putting her hand on Solas' shoulder. He nodded, staring out at the river for a long moment.

“Now all that remains is them,” Solas snarled suddenly, and got to his feet. 

“Solas, don't,” Arethin snapped, grabbing his arm.

He rounded on her, eyes blazing, and he began to spark. “They killed it,” he snapped. “This was their doing!”

“I know,” she said, trying to sound more confident then she felt. “Let me deal with it. Not you.” 

He glared at her, no longer radiating sparks but cold, and frost began to crawl up her arm. Eventually, he relented, and nodded, and she let go of him.

She turned to the mages, shaking the frost off her hand. “You,” she snarled. “What in the name of every last Creator did you think you were doing?”

“The roads weren't safe,” complained the head mage, the sallow-skinned man who had first approached them.

“Did none of you think to contact the Alliance outpost?” she demanded. “We're friends to the Circles, both the loyal mages and the Grand Enchanter's people!”

“What good would the Alliance have done us?” one of the other mages snapped. “A bunch of Dalish and dwarves and washed-up Chantry moguls—what's the point?”

Arethin breathed in deeply through her nose, and something in her expression made all of the mages back up a step.

“We didn't know—it was just a spirit, the book said it could help us!”

“Help you find wisdom,” Felassan exclaimed. “Wisdom spirits help you find _wisdom_!”

“That spirit was a friend,” Arethin snapped. “A friend you hurt and killed, and you are absolutely lucky that you're not dead right now!”

The mages didn't have anything to say, just glanced between the fiercely glaring Solas and Arethin. 

“Oh...” Arethin pinched the bridge of her nose. “Get out of here. Risk the damned bandits, I care not. If I hear about anything like this again—if you so much as _touch_ a spirit—I will not stop you getting what you deserve, understand me?” 

The head of the group nodded, and with one last glance at Solas, they left. 

Arethin sighed. “I'm sorry,” she said again, turning back to her companions. 

Solas nodded. He was shaking with anger, his face completely bloodless. 

Felassan started to speak again, and Solas turned and glared at him, his eyes narrowed. Felassan went quiet. 

“We should go back,” Arethin said. 

“I would rather--” Solas' voice was very tight, and he took a deep breath. “You should return. I would rather not go back immediately.”

“You know I should say no to that.”

“I know.”

Arethin sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we at least get back to the Crossroads?” she cajoled. “I don't trust this place.”

Solas gave a stiff nod. “Perhaps that would be better.” 

Solas was very quiet on the way back, so quiet it made Arethin worried. Felassan tried to speak to him once more, but Solas refused to say anything. 

When they got back to the Crossroads, Arethin and Felassan moved towards the Skyhold eluvian, but Solas was reluctant. 

“I need—to be alone, just for a little while,” he told her. “I can't--” he took a deep breath and straightened his back. “I will be no help to you if I cannot clear my mind.”

“If you run off, I'll hunt you down.”

“I am well aware.”

“That's what I thought.” she put a hand on his shoulder. “I know,” she said. “Come back soon? I can't deal with all this garbage without you. For a great many reasons.” she tried smiling at him, but he didn't smile back. 

Felassan tried to speak to him one last time, starting in careful Elvhenan, but this time Solas snapped at him, something biting and short, and Felassan stopped. 

“Fine,” Felassan hissed, switching to Common. “Do as you please.”

“I was not aware I needed to answer to you,” Solas said in reply, taking the hint and going back to Common as well.

“Come on,” Arethin muttered to Felassan, nudging his shoulder. “Let's go.”

They left for the Crossroads, Arethin having one last word with the Alliance forces there to keep an eye on Solas. 

“What were you talking about?” Arethin asked Felassan. 

Felassan just shook his head. “Things I should know better than to say,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Doesn't matter. He'll talk to you before talking to me. Don't worry about it.” he hurried away from her, and all she could do was stare after him. 

At Skyhold, Felassan went to find Briala.

“Briala?”

“Hahren,” Briala smiled, but her face fell when she saw Felassan's expression. “What's the matter?”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry—I shouldn't—it's my own cursed problems, not yours--” he wrung his hands. 

She blinked. “Now I really want to know what's wrong.”

He laughed. “I'm sorry,” he said again. “I was just—reminded of some nasty memories I didn't want to think of.”

“Was it what you and Lavellan and Solas went off to do?”

He nodded. “Ah, temperamental Fen'harel,” he sighed, and sank into a nearby chair.

“What happened?”

“Well, a friend of his died. I didn't know the spirit, but he did.”

“Spirit?”

“Oh—you can make friends with them. A bit like making friends with Cole, but less confusing.”

“I see.” Briala sat on the chair opposite him. “Why does it matter to you?”

“Too much pain, and a god destroys things,” Felassan said with a shrug. “He'll say he's not a god, but I think at some point he crossed a line towards being one.”

Briala frowned. “Are you worried?” 

“Not now. I was.”

“Well, that's something, at least,” she shook her head. “You said I thought like him, once.”

“You do.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

He shrugged. “If you were in Elvhenan, given a few hundred years, you'd probably cause just as much trouble.”

She smiled. “I'm never sure what qualifies as a compliment from you.”

He laughed. 

It was three days before Solas returned from the Crossroads. He came out of the eluvian looking weary, but was reasonably polite, even to Felassan. 

Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary until Arethin had the dream.

She stood in a field of bodies, smelling blood and bile and dirt, and the sky overhead was split red with the dawn. 

It wasn't her dream. 

She knew it was a dream, she could feel it, and it twined around her, alien and strange. It just wasn't hers, and it wasn't the larger Fade. Everything about it felt...off, like she watched it through someone else's eyes. 

The mark must have malfunctioned again, this time dragging her into someone's nightmare.

Her thoughts were weighed down, and the very air was heavy. Walking was a great effort, and she didn't so much walk as drag one foot forward, and then the other.

Her heart felt broken. It was the strangest thing, she felt—despair, utter despair, but it didn't belong to her. The emotion was completely alien, and she supposed it must have to do with that this dream was not her own.

She had to get out. She wasn't quite sure how, though. Since this wasn't her dream, she couldn't control it, or influence it the way she could if she were in the Fade. Perhaps if she found the dreamer and woke them up, she could leave. 

She walked across the field. The bodies were stacked three deep, corpses upon corpses, in armor and clothes and everything in between. Her first thought was that it must have been the sight of a great battle, as many of the bodies were wounded or stuck with arrows, but she saw people who were unmarked, or who wore ordinary clothes not meant for war. If it was a battlefield, it must have been a battle that encompassed an entire city, but there were no buildings. 

She'd never seen so many bodies. 

She realized that while most of the bodies were of elves, but she could see a human or a dwarf or a Vashoth mixed in. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling an almost physical weight of guilt press down on her. 

She took a deep breath. She had to continue. 

She found Solas standing at the center of the field, before an enormous statue of a wolf. The statue was so large it almost blocked out the sky, and the closer she got, the larger it seemed to grow. It had six eyes, three on either side of its massive skull, and blood dripped from its gaping maw.

“Solas?” she said, surprised. “Is this your dream?”

He turned, blinking. His eyes were red, as if he'd been crying, and there were teartracks on his cheeks. “Lavellan? What are you doing here?” his voice was rough.

“I think I'm here on accident,” she admitted. “I don't...I don't know. I'm sorry.” 

His eyes slid to her hand. “The mark,” he said. “I'm sorry. The dream was too strong—it pulled you here.”

She squared her shoulders. She shouldn't be seeing this—this was his dream, and she didn't need to go walking inside of it. “I need to get out, but I'm not sure how. Can you wake up?” 

“I tried,” he said. “It is...difficult.”

She stared at him. “Can't you stop nightmares? Why are you still here?” she was worried, now. If he couldn't wake up, what chance did she have?

“I tried,” Solas said. “I can put a protection around the nightmare, so no one will come here--”

“Except for me.”

“It's the mark—it's connected to me,” he waved a hand. “I'm trying, but I can't pull out of it—” the sky turned ashen, and his legs went out from under him.

Startled, she caught him. 

“I'm sorry,” he choked, voice suddenly thick with tears. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry--” he was so heavy he weighed her down. She was positive that he wasn't this heavy in the physical world.

“You're not afraid of it,” she said. “I don't—this isn't about being afraid. Not like a normal nightmare.”

“All that I feared has come and gone already. Except for the very last.” 

Arethin stared around at the field of bodies. “Everything?”

“Everything, dead,” he said. “What else is there to fear?” 

It began to snow, the sky growing gray and cloudy. 

“It's my fault,” he murmured. He reached out and grabbed her about the waist, holding her so tightly that it began to hurt. “I didn't mean it. I didn't want any of it. I'm sorry.” 

“Solas,” she said, taking his shoulders. “It's the nightmare. Do you understand? All that despair is getting to you, but you can't let it. It's worse than fear.”

“I _know_ ,” he gritted his teeth. 

“Come on,” she said, looking around. There wasn't anything here but the bodies, and the huge statue, nothing else to focus on. “You made a mistake. Sometimes...mistakes cost lives. You can't always predict it. Come on, wake _up_.”

Nothing happened. 

She tilted his chin up, so she looked into his eyes. "You know I know whereof I speak," she said. After a moment, the world around them slowly began to dissolve, and finally, he let go of her. “Better,” Arethin said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Better.”

“You should be able to leave now,” Solas said.

“Are you sure? Do you need--”

“Arethin,” he stood up and faced her. “Wake up.”

Arethin woke up, chest heaving. 

She swung her legs out of bed and wrapped herself in a robe. Her lips pressed together in worry, she hurried downstairs to find Solas. He was in his office, pacing nervously.

“Are you alright?” Arethin asked. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am sorry,” he said. “I did not...expect you to be there.”

“No, I should say not, and nor did I. I did not mean to walk in there.” she avoided his gaze. “I know it was...private. I'm sorry.”

“It was not your fault.”

“Was it a memory, or...?” she shook her head. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask.”

“In part,” he said, voice very quiet and very, very calm. “I have seen similar sights before.”

She looked at him again. His expression was schooled into one of placid calm, but his hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white and his eyes were red. 

“Are you alright?” she asked again. 

He shook his head.

“I—is there anything I can do...?” she trailed off. There wasn't really much she could do, she knew it. 

“No, you have already helped me—very much,” he told her. “I will be fine.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Are you?”

Arethin blinked. “...no.”

He inclined his head, a bitter smile touching his lips.

Later, during the day and away from any such nightmares, Iron Bull came to see Solas. “I heard about your friend, Solas,” Iron Bull said.

Solas narrowed his eyes at Bull. “Oh?”

“Sorry. That's always rough.”

“Thank you.” he paused. “I could have saved her,” Solas admitted. “If I was there sooner, if I hadn't...” he trailed off. 

“You can't save everyone,” Bull said. “And you really shouldn't try. You, in particular.”

Solas' lips thinned, pressed into a hard line. “If I do not try, then who will?” 

“You're not responsible for everyone,” Bull insisted. 

“The spirit was one of many whose death could have been prevented,” Solas said. “And its death is my fault.”

“I know,” Bull said. “I know what that's like. But you think about it too much, you'll go crazy. Which isn't too far for you.”

Solas glared at him. 

“Maybe not crazy, then,” Bull amended his statement, remembering Solas' dislike of accusations of madness. “But it really isn't good.”

“And what about any of this is?”

“Not a whole lot,” Bull said. “But you can't dwell on every death. It gets to you.”

“I know,” Solas' shoulder slumped. 

“Yeah, I'm probably telling you stuff you've heard before,” Bull went to sit down across from Solas. “I'm guessing you could probably stand to hear it again, though.” 

“Death is always difficult,” Solas said. “Even if one does not have a hand in causing them.”

“Alright, well, to be fair, in our line of work, we don't see a whole lot of natural deaths that we don't have a hand in,” Bull pointed out. 

“My people never had 'natural death' as long as I have been alive,” Solas told him. “And spirits never die without someone killing them. Like my friend.” 

“Oh,” Bull blinked. “That probably makes things worse.” he put a hand out and rested it on Solas' shoulder for a minute, before taking it away. “I'm sorry about that.”

“It is not your fault.” 

“Don't blame yourself for it, either,” Bull said. 

Solas glanced up at him, expression sharp. “I--”

“Yeah, you made the Veil and...whatever,” Bull grimaced. “I mean, I still don't think it's that bad a thing, so I wouldn't worry.”

Solas scowled. “It is.”

“Fine, it's bad. But it was a mistake—it's not like you _wanted_ all this shit to happen.”

“It was still my decision. My responsibility. I am the one to blame.”

“Look...you can't blame someone for things that happened by accident,” Bull said at length. “You might've made it happen, but blaming yourself is pretty pointless. Blame yourself for shit you intended to happen, okay? It's the only way to deal with it.”

Surprisingly, that made Solas smile.


	19. Tis Better Times Should Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few friends make their return

“The Arcanist?” Arethin blinked. “Truly?”

Ambassador Vhelan nodded.

Everyone knew about the Arcanist, the dwarrowdam who studied magic. The Circles had been confused by her, as had the Dalish, and the Avvar, and everyone else she went to to ask about magic, but no one could deny her expertise.

“She wants to come,” Vhelan explained. “She'll be able to help.”

The Archanist was a redhead, dressed in armor who immediately set up shop in the Skyhold forge.

“Arcanist!” Arethin exclaimed upon meeting her. “I'm glad you're here.” 

Dagna smiled. “Nice to be appreciated,” she said.

“Don't tell me Orzammar doesn't appreciate you!” 

“They do,” Dagna admitted. “But—well, it's a little different when you're talking with mages, you know, who actually know what magic is.”

Arethin laughed. “That's true.”

Even with Dagna assisting and Leliana's people looking under every rock, they still had very little information on Corypheus himself, or where he might have been hiding. With this in mind, Varric went to find Arethin.

“Look, Lavellan...”

“What is it?”

“There's one other person who knows anything about Corypheus, besides me and Merrill.”

“Who would that be?”

“Hawke.”

“Lady Hawke? From Kirkwall?” Arethin raised her eyebrows in surprise. She'd been under the impression that Hawke was unreachable—or at least, that was what Varric had claimed, and Keeper Merrill had not contradicted him.

“Right.”

“What about her?”

“Well, she...she can come here, and help.”

“Is that so?” she narrowed her eyes at Varric. “If she wants to, she may. I am hardly stopping her.”

Varric sighed. “That's not—look, she'll come, but you have to do a favor for her.”

Arethin turned to Varric, hands on hips. “Varric, I am waist-deep in problems as it is,” she snapped. “I do not have time to go doing things for Lady Hawke when Keeper Merrill is already here--”

“Did Merrill tell you that two of our friends are still in the Kirkwall prison?”

Arethin nodded. “The Guard-captain and another elf, yes?”

“Yeah. Aveline and Fenris.”

“Alright. What about them?”

“If you get them out of prison, Abigail—Hawke—will come and tell you all she knows about Corypheus.” 

Arethin ran a hand over her head. “Why are you asking me, and not Leliana? She'd have a better idea about how to do that.”

“I _did_ ask her.”

“And?”

“Lavellan, they're in the Kirkwall prison,” he said with a grimace. 

Arethin stared at him. “The same Kirkwall with the red lyrium infection.”

Varric sighed and looked away. “That's the one. Red said she'd send scouts to see how it was--”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“You're in charge, aren't you?”

Arethin blinked. “Why do you say that?”

Varric chuckled. “Look, if you ask Red to do it, she's more likely to do it,” he said. 

“If that is what you wish,” she said. She shook her head. “We really must do something about the Kirkwall situation..”

They both went to see Leliana. To their surprise, Leliana agreed.

“They should not have to suffer for our mistakes,” Leliana said. She turned away from them, her hood hiding her expression. 

“Exactly,” Varric nodded.

Arethin glanced between the two of them, feeling as if there was some conversation happening she was not privy to.

“Kirkwall's red lyrium infection has only become worse,” Leliana said. “But we will do what we can.”

Varric let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Red,” he said. 

It took some time, and Leliana was adamant that no one but her own scouts be involved, but at last, they retrieved Varric's friends from prison and brought them through the Cossroads.

Several days after Varric first made his request, through the Skyhold eluvian came two figures, both leaning heavily on one another and accompanied by Leliana's scout.

Merrill and Varric were both there in an instant.

“Aveline!” Merrill exclaimed. “Fenris!”

“Merrill,” croaked one of the two, the tall redheaded woman. “You're looking well.”

Arethin walked over, and the two of them looked at her. 

“Lavellan, this is Fenris and Aveline Vallen,” Varric said. 

Fenris was very short for even an elf, shorter than Arethin. He was stocky, but hollow-eyed and hollow-cheeked, his bones jutting out under wasted muscles. His brown skin was sallow and ashen, long silver hair unkempt and matted. 

He leaned heavily on Aveline, eyes half-closed, and he stumbled when he walked. 

Aveline was tall, very tall, her red hair cropped short. She was very pale and wan, and as thin as Fenris. Her cheekbones were sharp and her eyes hollow.

“Red lyrium?” Arethin asked one of the scouts accompanying them.

The scout shook her head. “No sign of infection. We think any Templars with the red lyrium infection either got chased out or were called out by Corypheus, and it seems pretty contained so far.”

“Good.” she turned her attention back to the two of them. “You should go to our house of healing,” she said, looking them over.

“I'll take them,” Merrill said. “Thank you, Lavellan.”

“Of course, Keeper,” Arethin smiled.

“Keeper?” Fenris snorted. 

“Yes, Fenris,” Merrill rolled her eyes and went to Fenris' side. “We've talked about this. Come on.”

Varric was on Aveline's side. “You two wouldn't believe the shit that's happened in the last six months...”

Varric and Merrill brought Aveline and Fenris to the healing house. Aveline blinked in the light, and Fenris' shoulder were hunched. Merrill fussed over the both of them, even as healers attended them.

“I still can't believe you're a Keeper,” Aveline said, shaking her head and leaning back on the bed the healers had given her. “I know your Clan called you that, but--”

“Keeper _and_ expert on the eluvian,” Merrill smiled. 

“Even Solas is pretty impressed with you,” Varric elbowed her.

Merrill laughed. “Only because I told him to stop being so rude,” she said, flushing. “After that he was perfectly nice! He's a little like Hahren Josiah, you know.”

“Solas?” Fenris asked.

“Fen'harel,” Merrill said with a wide smile. “The Dread Wolf. He's Lavellan's friend. I'm not really sure why she trusts him, but he's nice enough, for Fen'harel.”

Aveline and Fenris stared at her, then at Varric, then at her again.

Varric sighed. 

“It's...a long story,” he said. 

“A Dalish legend is walking about your Keep?” Fenris asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

Merrill nodded. “You can meet him if you like,” she said. 

“I think we would have noticed a giant wolf.”

“Oh, no, he's not a wolf right now,” she said. “He's a man. An elf.”

“Then how do you know he is what he says?” Aveline asked. 

“Trust us,” Varric said. “Something about omens, and some really convenient knowledge...”

“Felassan went and told Lavellan,” Merrill explained. “And we knew Felassan was up to something, so--”

“Who's Felassan?” Aveline asked.

“One of Solas' friends,” Merrill said.

“You trust what he says?”

“Oh, no,” Merrill laughed. “Not at all.”

“Excuse me, but that doesn't make any sense,” Aveline said. 

“Let's start at the beginning,” Varric tried, and began the tale.

“I don't believe a word of it,” Fenris said when Varric was finished.

“That's alright,” Merrill said. “Lots of people wouldn't.”

It was shortly after Aveline and Fenris were rescued that Abigail Hawke finally came to visit Skyhold.

Abigail Hawke was of medium height (for a human, which still made her taller than Arethin), with short black hair. 

“I'm told you know something about Corypheus,” Arethin said.

Abigail gave a short, sharp nod. 

“Yes,” she said. “He killed my brother.”

“Carver Hawke?”

“Yes.”

“I see. And what else?”

“He's a darkspawn, of some kind, a talking one,” Abigail explained. “He can use blood magic--”

“I know all of that. Where does he come from?”

Abigail shook her head. “I have a contact or two in the Wardens--”

“Wonderful. If you tell Leliana, we can find them.”

Abigail blinked. “Very well,” she said, hardly the last word out before Arethin turned and left her. She frowned, but said nothing else, instead searching for Merrill, Varric, and Aveline and Fenris.

She found the four of them, Merrill and Varric both attempting to explain the business with the Qunari and the eluvian network. Or rather, Varric was explaining, and Merrill was providing helpful color commentary.

“Abigail!” Merrill beamed and the two of them embraced. “What have you been doing?”

Abigail shrugged. “Surviving, mostly.” she smiled. “I'm glad you're alright.” she glanced at Aveline and Fenris.

“You two look—well, I mean,” Abigail rubbed the back of her head. “I--”

“Terrible,” Fenris finished for her.

“I'm sorry we left you,” Abigail said. “We didn't want to--”

“I know,” Aveline nodded. “We told you to go. It's good that you got out, at least.”

Abigail smirked, but it was a bitter kind of smile with no real warmth to it. “I should have done something,” she said.

“You got the mages out,” Merrill said, patting Abigail's leg. “And see? Everyone's fine, now.”

“Everyone except the abomination,” Fenris growled. 

“We don't have to worry about him anymore,” Varric said. “Elthina never found him, but nobody else did, either.”

“We've looked,” Merrill assured him. “Lots of times, even in Kirkwall once or twice.” she shrugged. “We never found his body.”

“So he could still be alive,” Fenris said. 

Abigail and Aveline looked down.

“Maybe,” Aveline admitted. “But I'm not sure it's that important now.”

“He started the war,” Fenris hissed. “He--”

“No, he didn't,” Merrill said, voice firm. “The Chantry did. Anders was an apostate. He didn't have anything to do with the Circles till they decided he did.”

“But--”

“Fenris,” Merrill looked him in the eyes. “We have other things to worry about now.” she let out a gasp, as if startled. “Oh—I have something I need to check on,” she said. “I just remembered—I'll be back soon,” she got to her feet and hurried away, towards the eluvian. 

Aveline shook her head. “I can't believe she got that thing to work,” she said. “Still, after all this time.”

Fenris snorted. “I'm amazed she hasn't killed anyone with it,” 

“I wouldn't say things like that too loudly,” Varric said with a grimace. “Pretty much all the Dalish here adore her, including Lavellan.”

Fenris leaned back in his seat, watching the great hall with suspicious eyes. “I see. I suppose that foolish thoughts will persist.”

“Really,” Varric said seriously. “Do _not_ say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Fenris, Lavellan and Merrill are kind of the reason we're not all dead. And Merrill's eluvians got you out of Kirkwall.” he gave a pointed look to both of them. “Look, you don't have to agree with her—I still think there's a whole lot of crazy in that head. But she's the one who got you two out of prison.”

Aveline looked down, red-faced. Fenris scowled and looked away. 

"I think anything that angers Lavellan isn't likely to be spoken of very much," Abigail muttered. 

"Not when half of them think she's the Herald of Andraste, and the other half think she's sent from the Creators, or whatever," Varric said matter-of-factly. "It's kind of hard to argue with a woman who got a mountain dropped on her and just got right back up."

"A _mage_ in such a position is...troubling," Fenris said. "How are we to know she can control herself? That she will not become like a magister, or the abomination?" 

"She's...not like that," Varric said at length. "At least, not the abomination part." 

"And the magister part?" 

"They wanted her to be Inquisitor," Varric said, expression faintly troubled. "When we first got here. The Inquisition--they wanted her to be their leader. They wanted to give her a sword and everything. She said no. She didn't want to be in any kind of organization where everyone didn't have a voice."

"So she managed to get the dwarves, the Dalish, the mages, the Chantry _and_ Ferelden all to play nice?" Abigail raised an eyebrow. "Because that's what it sounds like, but I don't know if that's true."

Varric laughed. "Yeah," he said. "She wrangled them all together, _and_ talked someone who says he's Fen'harel into doing what she wants."

Aveline looked impressed, but Fenris' lips thinned. 

"This place is no safe haven," he argued. "Not with so many mages--"

"Yeah, don't even start," Varric advised. "You _will_ get people yelling at you about it. Unless you want to be in a debate with ten different people at once, don't."

"I suppose all the mages here can think about is their precious freedom," Fenris sneered.

"Actually, there's Madame de Fer and the loyal mages," Varric said. "They liked the Circles. Madame's on your side, and probably a lot of the Inquisition, too. It's just if you start talking about it, you'll start an argument, and Andraste knows we have enough of those."

"Ah," Fenris finally seemed somewhat mollified. "Perhaps this Madame de Fer's views will win out, then." 

"Anyway, I wouldn't worry about mages with that monster running around," Abigail growled. "You want a magister, there's one that'll give you a run for your money. He's practically right out of the Chant." 

Varric sobered. "Yeah," he said. "Corypheus is a piece of work."


	20. Flooded With Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good news: someone gets lucky this week
> 
> bad news: it isn't arethin or cass

Solas and Iron Bull were alone again. This time, Solas had sought him out instead of the other way around, and they walked up to the battlements, looking out over the valley. 

“You are different to how I thought most Qunari were,” Solas said.

“Well, I'm not Qunari anymore,” Bull reminded him.

Solas smiled. “No. You are not. Are you still concerned about your control?”

“Mm,” Bull rumbled and frowned to himself. “Yeah. No. I'm not sure.”

“Better than being certain you cannot control yourself. You must know that the Qunari invent that idea to keep you within the Qun.”

“Could be,” Bull said. “Or, they're right, and we're too dangerous to let loose.”

“Why would that be?”

“Has anyone outside the Qun done that well?” Bull pointed out. “In the Qun, people are certain, and...well, most of them are pretty happy, honestly.”

“Is it true happiness, or merely the contentedness one feels when one does not know anything else?”

“What's the difference?” Bull watched him, his one eye intent.

“One is fragile, prone to breaking when confronted with the truth. One is a cage for the mind. And ultimately, what does happiness truly matter, if they did not choose that life to begin with?”

"Isn't that what most people want? Just to be happy?”

“Perhaps. Is that what you want?”

“I can't figure out what I want anymore,” Bull shook his head. 

“Then we have that in common, as well.”

Bull looked at him. 'Yeah?” he raised his eyebrow. Solas looked away. 

“I knew what needed to be done,” he said. “Then it changed.”

“There's been a lot of that going around lately.” 

“Yes, that is quite clear.” Solas sighed. 

“It helps to focus on small goals,” Bull advised. “Well, it helps me, anyway.”

“Does it?” Solas leaned back. “I have forgotten what that was like as well.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“I think we have more in common than I first thought,” Bull said.

“Do we indeed?” Solas looked up at Bull, eyes lidded. “Bull--” he caught sight of something behind Bull, and his eyes widened a fraction. Bull tensed, and Solas backed up, the silvery shimmer of a barrier spell appearing on both of them. 

Bull turned, and as he expected, a pair of assassins wearing Skyhold uniforms advanced on the pair of them.

Bull swung outwards, dodging the assassin with the poisoned blade and sending him crashing into the wall. Solas caught the other one with a fireball, forcing him over the edge of the battlement. 

The remaining assassin spat a phrase in Qunlat, getting to his feet and coming at Bull again, before Bull hurled him over the side, too. The two of them looked over the wall, Solas pale and angry, Bull resigned.

“This wasn't a real attack,” Bull said at last, drawing back from the wall. 

“No?” 

“No, this was a message,” Bull said.

Solas narrowed his eyes. “And the message being?”

“They see me,” Bull took a deep breath. “They really don't like to let people go.”

“Bull--” Solas grabbed Bull's arm, and Bull looked back over his shoulder at him. 

“Yeah?” 

“You are—if this continues to happen--” he paused. “Will you be attacked again?”

“Probably,” Bull sighed. “This one wasn't serious. More of a courtesy than anything. But with the hostilities between the Viddasala and the Alliance—yeah. Probably.”

Solas didn't let go of Bull. “I have had many friends die. I do not wish to add any more. Tell me if you need help dealing with...this.”

Bull raised his eyebrow. “We're friends?” he looked down at Solas' hand, still on his arm. To Bull's great surprise, Solas flushed slightly, his cheeks acquiring a rosy gleam. 

“Yes, I—of course,” Solas said, removing his hand after a moment of hesitation.

Bull reached over and squeezed Solas' shoulder. “Thanks, Solas. I mean that.” he leaned forward, hand heavy on Solas' shoulder. “Let me know any time I can help you,” he said. 

A strange problem came to the Alliance, and the Inquisition in particular, one that was most unusual and that they had not even been searching for

“The body of the last Inquisitor?” Arethin raised her eyebrows skeptically when Cassandra explained.

Cassandra nodded. “His resting place had been long lost,” she said. “He vanished, some time during the second Blight.”

“And what does this have to do with us?” 

“It is possible we can gain the allegiance of the Avvar groups in the area,” Leliana said. “They could help while we investigate the Wilds. The Venatori are quite interested, and there are other groups there that Corypheus may want to ally with.”

Arethin chewed the inside of her cheek. “There is one eluvian in that area,” she said slowly. “Are there many rifts?”

"Quite a few, actually,” Josephine said. “They were damaged by the Breach, but did not contact us for some time.”

“Then we should at least see what's going on,” Arethin said. “If the Venatori are interested, we should see why that is.”

The eluvian opened into a ruin on the very edge of the valley. The mirror had been one that was able to be opened from the Crossroads side, but it hidden away in a cave, far under a newer Tevinter ruin, and it had apparently taken the archaeologists days to dig themselves out. Arethin took Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Solas with her in her investigation. 

The head of the archaeological team, Professor Kenric, was the one who initially had the lead on Ameridan. All he knew was that Ameridan had vanished in this area, and he had narrowed it down to this valley. He thought perhaps the local Avvar might have some information, as they had been here since before Ameridan's death, and had a detailed understanding of the history and ruins. 

The valley was warm and humid, filled with unusual plants and huge animals. The valley had its own strange climate, making it very warm up until winter hit with an uncommon fierceness. Once one ascended the cliffs, however, it became much colder, no matter the time of year, making a trek to the Avvar one that was not very comfortable. 

There were aggressors in the valley, besides a scattered Venatori scout or two, and it became apparent there were at least two different groups of Avvar. One group was mostly disinterested in the Alliance, but the other one was clearly hostile. The hostile group was called the Jaws of Hakkon, and why they had a problem with the Alliance was not very clear. They attacked any Alliance forces that came near, be they Dalish, Inquisition, dwarven, or one of Kenric's assistants. Anyone with an Alliance symbol was fair game, it seemed, and they had given no reason why. 

The neutral Avvar hold, called Stone-Bear Hold, clung to the cliff-face, and Arethin made a note to go to them and ask them about Ameridan on Kenric's behalf. The last time Kenric had tried, he'd gotten accosted by Hakkonites and barely escaped.

The Avvar, all dressed in furs and hide despite the warmth of the day, watched them and murmured to each other as her group passed by. Most stared openly at Iron Bull, but others focused on Arethin and Solas, and a minor few payed close attention to Cassandra. The Veil was somewhat thin here, but not in a bad way. Spirits pressed close, but not because of spilt blood or poor spellworking. The reason wasn't clear, but fortunately it did not seem to be an immediate concern.

The leader of Stone-Bear hold was a tall woman, who had long blonde hair mostly hidden by her hood. She sat on a rough-hewn throne of stone and hide, propped up against which was a massive war-hammer. She grinned when she saw them.

“You be the Alliance lowlanders, yes?” she had a very thick accent, almost Ferelden. Arethin wasn't sure what language the Avvar spoke other than Common—they never came anywhere near the Free Marches, so her Clan had never run across them. Dalish Clans in general didn't interact much with the Avvar. 

“That's correct,” Arethin nodded. “I am Arethin Nadur Lavellan, mediator to the Alliance.”

“I am Thane Svarah Sun-hair,” the woman said. She peered at Arethin and Solas, looking hard at their pointed ears. “We heard that the Alliance claims two gods assist it,” she said. “The burning woman for the Chantry, and an elf god for the elves. I thought the elf gods had left you behind.”

“The story is a bit more complicated than that,” Arethin explained. 

“How so? Did a god not come to you?”

Arethin shifted from one foot to the other, considering her answer. “What have you heard?” she asked eventually. “There have been many rumors, of all different kinds.” 

“Quite true,” Svarah agreed. “We've heard all manner of tales, but here is the story we heard most often. We heard that the burning woman rescued one called Herald, and then a wolf-god gave the Herald a castle.” she rested her chin on her hands. “The story about the wolf-god confused the people who told it,” she said. “So many lowlanders did not even think he was a real god, but there the elves were, all saying he'd come back to them.” 

Arethin raised her marked hand. “That was me that they called the Herald,” she explained. “But I don't think Andraste came to me. As for Fen'harel, well—that's a very long tale.”

“Ah,” Svarah leaned back in her chair, satisfied. “But the wolf-god _did_ come to you?”

“Fen'harel did come, yes,” Arethin didn't really want to retell the whole tale, especially with Solas in the same room. It felt odd, especially how he had decided to add no commentary. If he felt no need to intervene, she'd keep the details to a minimum. It was rude to talk about people like they weren't present, after all.

“Well, if you did not see the burning woman, but saw the wolf-god, it's good favor, all the same. He's a tricky god, yes? A tricky god will bring you his cleverness, and escape from your enemies if you do him well.”

“I hope so,” Arethin said, glancing at Solas out of the corner of her eye. Solas' expression was carefully blank, but a slight flush rose in his cheeks all the same. “In any case, we are here as a favor to one of our allies, the Inquisition.”

“Ah, yes.” Svarah nodded. “What do you need?”

“We believe that the body of the last Inquisitor was laid to rest here,” Cassandra now stepped forward, and Svarah looked at the Inquisition insignia on her breastplate. “It was lost long ago, and it would be important to have it.”

“What is the name of this Inquisitor? Perhaps the gods have said his name.”

“Ameridan.” 

Svarah pursed her lips together, thinking.

“You must go to the Lady's Rest,” she said. “An island in the lake.”

“And what will we find there?” Arethin asked.

Svarah shook her head. “There is a god there, a sad one,” she explained. “We stay away, but her voice calls out for Ameridan.” 

Cassandra and Arethin glanced at each other. This was a much more specific lead than they had been expecting.

“We do have one more question,” Arethin said. “Who are the hostile Avvar, the ones who call themselves the Jaws of Hakkon?”

Svarah scowled. “They want only blood and battle,” she explained. “Hakkon is for war, and that is what they desire. They seek to find him, and find more war. Your Alliance and your wolf-god won't be friends to him, nor the Chantry and their burning woman.”

“They dislike our...gods?” Cassandra asked, raising an eyebrow.

“They dislike everyone. With Avvar, they follow rules, but lowlanders have no rules to protect them.” Svarah shrugged. “Hakkon wants war with everyone. Sometimes war is needful, but Hakkonites want it above all else. They seek to bind Hakkon to mortal form.”

“Mortal form?” Arethin blinked. “They can do that?”

“It has been done before, once, a long time ago,” Svarah explained. “They take the god and birth him into a dragon, like when we speak with our gods. But this isn't meant to be—it is not good for the god. When they bind Hakkon this way, it forces a need for another rebirthing, to break the bonds.”

“Are they capable of doing this?” Cassandra asked, concerned.

Svarah spread her hands. “I don't know. I know they want to, but I couldn't say if they managed it. Mayhap their augur is a poor one—or perhaps they'll find what they're looking for. You should watch for them.”

“Is there anything we can do about them?” Arethin asked. “Are they a threat to you, as well as us?”

Svarah leaned back in her chair. “They're not friends, but not enemies just yet,” her expression was pensive. “We have agreements with them. They will not be oath-breakers, at least, not that we know.”

“Agreements?” Cassandra asked. “What do you mean?”

“We do not fight. It is not needful for us to fight, so they leave off. But they might be oath-breaking anyway,” Svarah's scowl returned. “We can't prove it.”

“So they are not worthy of trust,” Solas said. 

“No,” Svarah agreed. “Not really. But Stone-Bear Hold breaks no oaths, so until we find that they are doing it...” she trailed off.

“I understand,” Cassandra nodded. “If we find that they are committing wrongdoing, we shall tell you.”

Svarah smiled at her, her smile radiant as the sun. “Thank you, Inquisition,” she said. “Lowlanders don't often feel like Avvar are important enough to care for.”

Cassandra's cheeks reddened, and Arethin adjusted her grip on her staff.

“We should go,” Arethin said.

The Lady's Rest was a tiny, rocky spit of an island where the Veil was ripped and torn. Arethin flinched upon setting foot on the island.

“Do you hear that?” Arethin murmured. 

Cassandra nodded. “I hear...something.”

“The Veil is very thin here,” Solas said. “Something is weakening it.”

They searched the island, and did not have far to look before they located something of import. The soft, worried cries of a spirit were easily heard from the shore, calling for Ameridan. In the ruins of a wooden house, they saw the strange rift that had opened in the Fade, and the spirit that occupied the space.

The spirit hovered, too weak even to maintain a solid form. It had a vague humanoid shape, with a head and arms, but could not even maintain a face. 

“Hello?” Arethin asked. 

“I--” the spirit began. “I—she needed to find him. She slept, just to find him again. But she couldn't. She asked me to stay—I tried, but only parts of me came through.”

The spirit clearly only had one thing on its mind. “Who is 'she'?”

“Telana—dreamer, she came with him to hunt the dragon.”

They glanced at each other.

“A dragon?” Cassandra frowned. “Like the one the Thane spoke of?”

“A terrible dragon, all of Orlais, afraid!” the spirit said. “Darkspawn to the north, a terrible army. Drakon asked Ameridan for one last favor. 'Please, friend—for both our peoples.'”

“Both our peoples?” Cassandra said. “What do you mean?”

“Drakon's and Ameridans. The young blood and old blood. She came with him to help...”

“What did they do?” Arethin asked. “Where did they go?”

“They came here, rested,” the spirit explained. “Then they went up the river, to the metal spires. Then Telana came back, alone, to wait for him. To find him in dreams. But he never came back. She was dreaming...then...dead.”

“Telana must have cared deeply for Ameridan,” Solas said. “The spirit stayed because of what she felt for him.”

“It was hard,” the spirit said. “But you have opened the sky for me. Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” Arethin said.

The spirit dissolved into mist and vanished entirely. The rift closed.

“That was interesting...” Arethin murmured, thinking hard.

“I'd never heard that Ameridan had a lover,” Cassandra said. 

“Are there a great many things you don't know about Ameridan?” Arethin asked. “Were records lost, perhaps? Or destroyed?”

“Maybe,” Cassandra looked troubled.

“Telana seems to have been a somniari,” Solas said as they went down the hill, back to the shore. “The spirit spoke of her looking for Ameridan in dreams.”

“Is that important, do you think?” Arethin asked.

“She might have left other messages behind,” he explained. “It is possible more spirits took an interest in her—it might even be why there are so many Avvar in this particular area.”

Professor Kenric was quite interested to hear of their discovery, as he had not been able to get anywhere close to either the island or even to Stone-Bear Hold. The implications of what the spirit had said were not lost on him.

“If what it said is accurate, that means that Ameridan was a loyal patriot,” he explained. “There are many conflicting theories about why he vanished, because all the records about him and the early Inquisition were lost.”

“How were they lost?” Arethin asked, glancing from him to Cassandra.

“There was a Blight around that time,” Cassandra said, and Kenric nodded in agreement. “Many records were destroyed--a great deal from then was lost.”

“And the Exalted March of the Dales resulted in a large number of histories being destroyed,” Kenric said. “Skirmishes between the two sides weren't kind to historians—many records in both Val Royeaux and Halamshiral were lost.” 

Kenric had a good idea of the place the spirit might have been speaking of, but he worried that they would not be able to reach it.

“I'm still not certain I'll be able to get very far,” he fretted. “The Inquisition has sent their soldiers, of course, and some Alliance people have come as well, but between the Hakkonites, the terrain and the wilderness I don't know if we'll be able to investigate any of these ruins.”

“We shall go ahead,” Cassandra said. “We will forge a path.”

Arethin nodded. “With a bit of luck, we might get Stone-Bear Hold on our side,” she said. “They will likely be able to help if we can do that.”

Kenric agreed, and he and Scout Harding would follow their progress at a distance. 

As they went north along the river, they encountered more Hakkonites, as well as very aggressive wildlife, as Kenric had predicted. The Veil was very thin in many places, partially an impact of the rifts, and it had affected the local animals and plants to an alarming degree.

“Is this normal?” Arethin asked Solas as they examined the corpse of a massive spider that had been far more full of magic than was usual. “I haven't seen this before.”

“It is not normal,” Solas said. “Most animals avoid areas where the Veil is thin, knowing them to be hazardous. It's possible that the Avvar interactions with spirits make them more friendly, however, so there is less cause for an animal to stay away.”

“Do you think the damage might be a result of the Hakkonites and their spells?” Cassandra asked.

Arethin and Solas exchanged a look.

“It is possible,” Solas said. “If they were experimenting on animals, especially.”

“Animals can also be used in blood magic,” Arethin pointed out. “That can cause Veil damage.”

They came across more direct evidence of the Hakkonites' experiments entirely by accident. Forging along up the river, they ended up in a swamp, and stumbled over a camp of hostile Hakkonites. After dealing with the Hakkonites, they found they had been protecting a cave wherein resided a huge bear, kept captive in a cage. Near the cage were pages and pages of magical notes, outlining spells and glyphs.

“What are these?” Arethin picked up a page, but didn't understand the purpose of the spell. She handed it to Solas, who shook his head. 

“We should ask the Avvar about it,” Solas said. “They are called Stone-Bear, after all. Perhaps this is the wrongdoing their leader suspected.”

They cautiously let the bear free, not wanting any more Hakkonites to stumble across it and continue the experiments, and quickly returned to Stone-Bear hold to see if they had any information.

“Blood-drinking goat-swill!” Svarah Sun-hair cursed when Arethin explained the situation.

“Excuse me?”

“Those Hakkonites,” she growled. “Traitors and oath-breakers.” 

“How so?”

“That bear is Storvacker,” Svarah said. “Our hold-beast.”

“Hold-beast?”

Svarah nodded. “When she is healthy, so are we,” she said. “She had been missing for some time. We had grown concerned.” she rubbed her temples. “We had considered that the Hakkonites had taken her, but we had no proof.”

“What does this mean?” Cassandra asked.

“The Jaws of Hakkon are oath-breakers, betrayers,” Svarah said. “We will lend our swords to you, when you have need of them.”

“Thank you,” Arethin said.

“You need to be wary of them, Augur,” she told Arethin. “If they've been attacking holdbeasts, they'll be much closer to getting their Hakkon than you want.”

Having gained the alliance, they returned to hunt for the ruin that Kenric had spoken of. At last, after almost two entire days of hiking through the valley, they found it.

The ruin was massive and overgrown, the metal and stone spires of clear Tevinter origin. 

Kenric and Scout Harding joined them there, and they began to investigate the ruin, trying to find evidence of Ameridan. In the very back of the ruin, there was a very interesting statue, covered in ivy.

A large image of Andraste stood, her arms outstretched. However, in each hand, she held a small halla, and there were distinct animal themes in the carvings on the walls.

“This is strange,” Kenric said. “I don't know why there would be both Andrastian and Dalish imagery in this place...”

“Interesting,” Arethin looked up at the statues. “Is it possible the old Inquisition had contact with the Dalish? A Dalish member?”

“I...don't know,” Kenric admitted. “Why do you ask?”

“Andraste-worshippers,” she explained. “In the time of the Dales, some people worshipped both Andraste and the Evanuris.”

Kenric looked quite taken aback. “I had...never heard of such a thing,” he said.

“Well—Orlesian universities are hardly very willing to speak to the Dalish, are they?” Arethin raised her eyebrows, and Kenric flushed.

“We would, I mean—I would, but the university doesn't really—approve of Dalish sources...” Kenric shifted from one foot to the other.

“I see,” Arethin frowned. “Well, either way, the Dalish don't really approve of it now, for obvious reasons.”

They found a massive device in the middle of the ruin, a strange thing that had some magic spell inside it. When the spell was activated, a bolt of light burst from the top of the device, to another one far in the distance.

Arethin hummed to herself, narrowing her eyes at the light. 

“Do you think we should follow the light?” Cassandra asked.

“Neither body nor dragon appear to be here,” Solas said. “So I think that is the best way forward.”

They followed the light to another large artifact, and upon activation, another beam of light shot across the valley.

“I gather we follow this until it stops,” Arethin said.

“Ugh,” Cassandra wrinkled her nose. “This is tedious.”

The line lead through the valley, over the swamps and up the ridge of the mountains, unimpeded. The further they got along the line, the more Hakkonites they encountered.

“I guess whatever they're looking for is in the same place as what we are,” Bull said with a frown. 

The bolt of light ended at a massive fortress, which they could not get too close to, as it was guarded by seemingly hundreds of Hakkonites. The bolt of light had broken through a wall of ice that had surrounded it, presumably a protective spell of some sort.

Thousands of gleaming ice crystals scattered the ground before the fortress, extending even to where they sheltered away from the arrows of the Hakkonites.

Cassandra leaned down to pick one up, and frowned as it did not melt in her hand.

“This is strange,” she said.

They all examined the ice, and none of it began to melt. 

"A defensive spell, perhaps?" Cassandra suggested.

"We'll know more if we can get inside," Arethin said.

“Of course, but we cannot get in right now as it is guarded,” Cassandra said, gesturing over to the wall that crawled with the Hakkonites.

“We could get help from the Avvar,” Bull pointed out. “They don't like these people on their land either.”

“Good idea,” Arethin nodded, and they retreated from the fortress, back to Stone-Bear Hold.

Svarah was quite pleased to assist in attacking the Hakkonites, and she took her warriors to launch and assault on the fortress.

They attacked at night, the Avvar going forward to allow Arethin and the others to get inside. As the two forces clashed, the four of them slipped past the guards with little trouble.

Inside the fortress was deathly cold, colder than anything Arethin had ever felt before. Even the Frostback mountains and the Emprise had not been so cold as this. Everyone hesitated for a moment on the threshold.

“The cold is magically induced,” Solas said softly as they made their way inside.

“A spell to keep out trespassers?” Arethin suggested.

Solas inclined his head. “One likely gone very wrong,” he said.

“Why do you say that?” Cassandra asked. 

“It is so severe it would impact even those who were friendly to the keep,” he said. “It has either gone wrong, or the one who set it desired for no one to ever enter the keep again.”

At the center of the keep, they found the leader of the Jaws of Hakkon. Magic rose around him, not just the magic used to attack them or protect this place, but something huge and strange, bending and twisting the Veil. 

Frozen above them was a dragon, the body that must be used to bind Hakkon to a mortal shell. 

They interrupted the leader's spell and attacked, the cold biting and vicious, and they were all in as much danger from the cold as they were from a stray blade.

At last, however, the leader and the Hakkonites fell, and everyone took a breath. The cold began to disperse, and the Veil began to turn in a way that did not bode well. Stones formed in the center of the cavern, to make steps all the way up to a massive column, the top of which had been hidden to them.

Arethin and the others walked up the steps, to find a man waiting for them at the top of the column.

The man looked up. Vallaslin curled over his cheeks, and Cassandra let out a soft gasp. 

He looked at them, eyes catching the light. 

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra breathed.

He smirked. “And who might I be speaking to?” his voice was bone-weary, an old-fashioned Dalish accent marking his words. His eyes flicked to Cassandra's Inquisition armor. “Are you the new Inquisition?”

“No,” Cassandra said. “I am—Inquisitor Pentaghast,” she said. “But I am not here on behalf of the Inquisition. No, we are—we are the Alliance.”

“The Alliance? An Alliance of whom?” 

“Many of southern Thedas.”

“Then...who are your companions?”

“I am Arethin Nadur Lavellan, the Mediator to the Alliance,” Arethin stepped forward. 

Ameridan—for it must have been him—smiled at her. “I'm pleased to see alliances between our people and the Chantry have survived,” he said. 

“It isn't quite as you think,” Arethin said. “Can you explain why you are here? Are you a spirit, perhaps, or--?”

“He is no spirit,” Solas said. “He lives, but his life is attached to the magic of this place.”

Ameridan inclined his head.

“That dragon,” he said, gesturing to the massive beast. “I couldn't kill it, but I had to stop it. There was no other way. This place is full of old spells, built on ruins upon ruins. I could seal it away, but I had to seal myself, too.” he looked to the dragon. “But the Hakkonites came again—I knew they would. And I can no longer hold the beast.”

“We can help,” Cassandra said, stepping forward.

“You will have to be the only ones,” Ameridan heaved a breath and closed his eyes. “I was not made to live thus. When the spell is gone, so am I.”

"Is there nothing we can do?” Arethin asked.

He shook his head. “No, and even if you could, I would not wish to. Some things must have an end. Tell me—what happened after I was trapped?”

They all glanced at each other. 

“Nothing good,” Bull said at last. “At least, not a whole lot. Didn't the Blight happen right after he...vanished, Cassandra?”

Cassandra nodded. “The Blight, then the Exalted Marches--” she cut herself off, going pale. 

Ameridan glanced at her. “Marches? Why?”

“To attack the Dales,” Arethin said. “The Dales and Orlais fought, and in the end, Orlais invaded, and drove our people away.” 

Ameridan hung his head. “I don't understand,” he said. “Drakon was my friend—he would never--”

“It was his son,” Solas said. “Friendship is not always spared the tides of power.”

Ameridan's mouth twisted. “And the Chantry allowed this?”

“They...began it,” Cassandra said softly. 

He looked up at her, eyes sharp. “And you—Inquisitor, you are part of this Chantry?” Ameridan demanded. 

Cassandra shook her head. “No—we have had—troubles,” she said. “It would take too long to explain. The Inquisition is not part of the Chantry, not now.”

Ameridan nodded. “Good. Heathens,” he growled, angry light flashing in his eyes. “That they would forsake the word of the Lady...I knew Drakon's son a fool, but I didn't know it was like...” he sighed. “Never mind. You, you must have mended things,” he nodded at Arethin and Cassandra. “Tell me—what of my friends? What of Telana? It has been so long—I know they must be...” he trailed off.

“We don't know what happened to all of them,” Arethin said. “I'm sorry. Telana died soon after you disappeared. She was looking for you, in the Fade.”

Ameridan shook his head. "I told her not to...” he glanced up at the dragon, clenched his hand tightly around his staff. “It matters little. I will be with her soon, Creators willing.” he looked back at them. “I should have done more for our people,” he said, eyes immeasurably sad. “I should have done more for the world. To be lost here, for so long..."

“You did what you could,” Cassandra assured him. 

He smiled at her. “I suppose that is something, Inquisitor,” he told her. “I suppose that is all anyone can ever do, in the end.” 

The dragon shifted, and Ameridan hissed, clenching his eyes shut. 

“The dragon is coming,” he said. “Lady and Creators be with you,” he told them, looking into Arethin's eyes. 

Arethin clenched her marked hand. “We will finish your work,” she said. “Dareth shiral.”

With a sigh, Ameridan's body crumbled away, and all that was left of him was ash. They had hardly any time to think on that, however, as the dragon moved, ice cracking as it did so, and with a scream, it had broken free of its spell. It crashed through the ceiling, leaving a massive, gaping hole to the sky.

“We need to get that dragon,” Arethin said. 

“Glad to hear it,” Bull said. “Think we can get Stone-Bear in on a dragon hunt?”

They left the ruins, to see that Svarah and her warriors were still at the entrance.

“We saw Hakkon rise,” Svarah said, hurrying to meet them as soon as she spotted them. “We shot arrows and spells, but could not reach him. He flies to the river, that way--” she pointed to the south.

“Can you help us kill him?” Arethin asked.

Svarah shook her head. “We lost many warriors, and many were wounded,” she said. “You must go, quickly—I will send who I can, but you cannot let him escape.” 

Arethin nodded, and they tore off after the dragon. It had winged down the mountain, into the valley, all the way to the lakeshore. In its trail it had left ice and snow, cold spilling from its wings. 

It finally came to rest out on the lake, where it sat on a sheet of ice it had conjured. It seemed to know that they chased it, for it stopped and watched them come down to the shore. 

_Come, lowlanders!_

A voice rang in their minds, a voice so cold that it seemed to have never known the touch of the sun. They could smell blood and ashes on the air, and there was snow on the wind. 

Solas hissed in pain, bringing a hand to his ear. Arethin flinched, but the voice did not cause her the same pain.

_Come, fight and prove your worth!_

“What are we hearing?” Bull asked.

“The demon inside the dragon,” Solas said, slowly pulling his hand away from his head. His face was pinched in pain. 

“You alright?”

Solas nodded. “It is—not pleasant to hear it,” he said. “Come—we cannot let it roam free.”

“I agree,” Arethin said. “Come on.”

They approached the beast, drawing their weapons. 

The dragon was absolutely massive, easily another third again the size as the other dragons they'd seen. Its huge head tilted towards them as they approached, pale eyes gleaming with an undeniable intelligence.

It spat ice at them, ice as cold as it had been within the fortress, and they scattered. Cassandra and Iron Bull charged the beast, Solas staying well back and hurling fire spells at it. Arethin at first stuck to long-distance spells, before casting a barrier and running at it with her spectral sword.

Others came to assist, Alliance soldiers and Avvar, and the dragon screamed when it saw them. 

Finally, after much effort taken, the dragon died, stuck with arrows and riddled with burns and blade wounds.

_Well fought_ , the voice rumbled in their minds again, for one last time, before finally going silent. The dragon's body was encompassed with a brilliant light, and the Veil felt fractured for a moment, before the light vanished, and the body was simply a body again.

“Wow,” they turned to see Scout Harding crest one of the icy ridges that Hakkon had made. “Never got a chance to see you kill a dragon this close before.” 

“I don't like to make a habit of it,” Arethin admitted, taking heavy breaths and leaning on her staff.

“Are you kidding?” Bull exclaimed, swinging his axe over his shoulder. “That was _great_!”

“If you like running around and getting spat at by an overgrown lizard, then very well,” Arethin rolled her eyes.

Bull ignored her, grabbing Solas' shoulder. “That was amazing!” he exclaimed. “When you just popped it between the eyes--”

Solas stared up at him, blinking. “I...suppose,” he said. “I am mostly glad we survived the battle.”

Bull sighed, and pulled Solas into a deep kiss. 

The others stared at the pair as Solas let out a surprised noise, then wrapped his arms around Bull's neck and enthusiastically returned the gesture. 

“Um,” Harding said, staring with some fascination. 

Arethin turned away from them. “So,” she said, a little more loudly than was necessary. “The dragon is dead.”

“Uh, yeah..” Harding's eyes were very wide as she stared at Solas and Bull, who finally broke apart. “Yeah,” she added, finally focusing. “Now that the dragon is gone, the cultists should clear out, and the valley's probably a lot safer.” 

This time it was Solas who initiated the kiss, pulling Bull down to his level. Arethin covered her face with one hand. 

“Very well,” Arethin said. “Then if we are not needed, we shall take our leave. Is Professor Kenric still here? I think we have some findings he would quite enjoy hearing.”

Harding nodded, her gaze drifting over to Bull and Solas again. Cassandra was bright red, deliberately averting her eyes. 

“If _certain people_ might keep their hands to themselves for five minutes, we can get going,” Arethin said, and Bull and Solas separated at last. Solas flushed very bright red, but otherwise both of them were completely unrepentant. 

Cassandra sighed and rolled her eyes, and Harding still looked uncomfortable. They all returned to Stone-Bear hold, which was closer than the nearest Alliance camp or the Eluvian. The Avvar were quite pleased to let them stay for the night, Svarah extremely impressed with the killing of Hakkon. 

Iron Bull and Solas spirited themselves away to a more secluded corner, turning quite a few heads. 

“I suppose it's nice someone had a good time this trip,” Arethin said in reference to the pair. 

“Isn't Solas a thousand years old or something?” Harding asked. 

Arethin nodded. “Indeed.”

“Then...”

Arethin shrugged. “It's their business, not ours,” she said. 

“I can only imagine what Varric will make of it when he hears,” Cassandra said, giving Arethin a sidelong glance.

“Some nonsense, I'm sure,” Arethin said.

“He is not so bad a writer,” Cassandra protested, the tips of her ears going pink. “In prison, he wrote a tale of Lady Hawke and how things came to be—what I read of it was quite...acceptable.”

“Did he? He hadn't mentioned that.”

“You and he do not exactly speak very much.”

“Quite true.”

Arethin left, Svarah calling her away, and Cassandra let out a sigh, staring after her.

“Oh, not you _too_ ,” Harding said.

“What?” Cassandra blinked at her.

“What do you mean, what?” Harding gave her a grin. “You're mooning over her like a teenager.”

“I am not,” Cassandra protested, her cheeks flushing. 

“Fine, whatever,” Harding shrugged, and raised a knowing eyebrow. Cassandra folded her arms and turned away.

Professor Kenric made his way to the Hold, quite eager to learn what Arethin and her companions had found in the ruin. Arethin and Cassandra, likewise, wanted very dearly to speak to Kenric on the matter.

“Ameridan was an elf?” Kenric murmured after they finished explaining. “A _Dalish mage_?”

“He was,” Arethin said.

Cassandra nodded. “I was...surprised as well,” she said.

“And he was friends with Emperor Drakon?”

“That is what he said.”

Kenric began to pace. “Maker...Emperor Kordillus would have known that,” he said. “He might even have known Ameridan himself.”

“He did know Kordillus,” Cassandra said. “The Emperor would have known who he was, and what he did for Orlais.”

“Precisely,” Arethin said. “It would seem that the entire incident at Red Crossing was some manner of excuse—perhaps for a land grab, or some personal quarrel.” this was an opinion the Dalish had held for some time, but it didn't seem constructive to bring that up. Not right now, anyway. 

Kenric nodded. “Bringing this to the University would have...far-reaching effects,” he said. “It casts doubts on the entire concept of the Exalted March of the Dales. The idea was always that the elves attacked Orlais at Red Crossing, but this...” Kenric shook his head. “It makes the entire history of the Dales more complex. The common belief was that the Dales became isolationist and aggressive, but both Telana and Ameridan being Dalish completely contradicts that.”

“And what exactly would this mean?" Arethin asked.

“The Chantry would be cast in the wrong,” Cassandra spoke up. “It would seem as if the March was a betrayal on many sides. They would seem like liars, fools...” she trailed off, frowning.

“That is if anyone believed the claim,” Kenric said. 

“The body and his armor and weapons are still there to be recovered if you wish,” Arethin said. “He used a staff, likely of Dalish make. I didn't get a chance to look at it closely.”

Kenric nodded, frowning. He shook his head. “Between this, the Inquisition, and the entire Themostoclea situation, I think the clerics and the University will have a cat,” he said. 

“Doubtless,” Cassandra murmured.

After Kenric left, presumably to document what Arethin and Cassandra had told him, Cassandra was melancholy. 

“What's the matter?” Arethin asked. “You should be happy. We killed a giant dragon.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “You have me confused with Iron Bull,” she said. “No this business with Ameridan...” 

“What? You said everything about Ameridan had been lost.” she raised her eyebrow. “And the invasion...well, considering everything now, it's hardly surprising that it was not the righteous cause it was championed as.”

“No, of course not,” Cassandra agreed. “But I had thought the Marches on the Dales were...equal. The truth was somewhere between what the Dalish and the Chantry thought.” she clenched her hand. “And now this...Ameridan was Drakon's friend. They had to have known that, and the Chantry simply...ignored it."

“Ah.” 

“Were the records lost, or destroyed?” Cassandra looked up, over the cliff, towards where the body of Hakkon lay on the water. “Did they lie about it? Just to conquer land?”

“Possibly,” Arethin said. “There is also the possibility that Kordillus had a personal problem with the Dalish.”

Cassandra's lip curled. “Ameridan was a mage. A Dalish mage. An Inquisitor, and it was never spoken of. They hid so much—and I put so much of my faith in them, and for what?” 

“Cassandra...” Arethin sighed. “I cannot tell you anything other than what I've already told you.”

“I know,” Cassandra murmured. “And I wish it were not so.” she rubbed her face. “I still believe in the Maker—but how can I believe in the Chantry when this is what they have done? Lied to the whole world, lied to the Order itself--?” 

“I couldn't tell you,” Arethin said. 

Cassandra curled her hands into fists. “How did I not see?” she said. "How could I not see all the lies? Was Justinia such a liar also? How can I believe in the Maker if everything else is a _lie_?”

“Cassandra...it wasn't your fault that they lied,” Arethin said. “You made a mistake. You're trying to make it better. You're not the first person.” she gave a dry smile. “According to Solas, you're not even the person who made the biggest mistake.”

“Arethin—I am supposed to seek truth. How is any of what I sought truth? I sought only—shallow truths, things that made me feel as if I were right.” she shook her head, rested her elbows on her knees. “I had given my trust to the Order, and yet they gave none to me. My whole life I have served the Maker, but nothing has come of it but lies and war.”

“Then trust in something else,” Arethin advised. “Make something new. Nothing says that you need to stay with the Seekers forever, or restore them, or anything.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Would that things could be as they were when we were young,” she said. “The world was so much simpler.”

“It was,” Arethin agreed with a sigh. “It absolutely was.' 

Meanwhile, Solas and Iron Bull had gotten more than a bit carried away over the course of the night, hardly stopping for a breath. They lay together in the small hours of the morning, Solas' head against Bull's chest.

“I didn't realize you...wanted...” Solas trailed off, uncertain about what was to happen next.

“We were both kind of...busy,” Bull admitted. “Figured you'd be too hung up on problems to come to me, and, well, I didn't want to push anything.”

“But the dragon...?”

“That was really, _really_ hot,” Bull admitted. “Kind of got caught up in the moment.”

“Mm,” Solas rumbled and pulled Bull closer.

“Uh—how seriously are you taking this?” Bull asked. “I don't really want to accidentally marry the Dread Wolf or something...”

Solas raised an eyebrow.

“I'm not too well-read on the stories about Fen'harel,” Bull admitted.

“Iron Bull, you are my friend,” Solas said. “And this is—enjoyable. Does that satisfy you?”

Bull smiled. "Yeah,” he reached out and pulled Solas closer. “Yeah, it does.”


	21. A Moon Made Of Longing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we get this chapter a day earlier because i'm away tomorrow, and this time our leading ladies finally _do_ get a clue

After many months, the peace talks between the warring factions of Orlais were finally coming up. Briala went ahead of them to Halam'shiral first, and Arethin would go with Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Vivienne. Giuseppina would be there as well, but would arrive apart from the Alliance representatives.

Vivienne was disappointed to not bring Dorian along, but they all agreed that it made sense not to. 

There was an eluvian in Halam'shiral, one carefully placed so as to avoid any attention. Briala and her people quite frequently used it, but it was not known to anyone outside of Briala's spy network. 

They used the eluvian to get inside the city, and then moved to the Winter Palace.

Halam'shiral was a very strange feeling city. Many of the buildings were very new, in and almost overly-Orlesian style, as if trying to tell everyone that yes, Orlais owned this city, and not the elves. However, there were clearly older buildings there as well, and strange adjustments, and a great deal more trees than most other cities. 

Halam'shiral was in much better shape than Val Royeaux had been, but that only made sense. It had never come under siege. 

The Winter Palace was a huge monstrosity, a symphony in ostentatiousness. It was the kind of place Sera would have absolutely hated. There were brass statues everywhere, the walls were covered expensive blue paint, and there was the thick perfume of roses on the air. There were massive and ornate fountains every few feet, and everyone dressed in the most elaborate and ridiculous clothing Orlesian fashion had to offer. 

Arethin was suddenly glad for the uniforms that the Alliance had decided on. She spotted mask after mask, stiff dress after stiff dress, waists narrowed with corsets and skirts that looked as heavy as a full set of armor, and she could only be grateful for her tall boots and sleek jacket. 

They decided that Leliana could go inside first, to ensure that all was well. The others mingled in the large and ornate courtyard just inside the front gates, getting a first look at the other guests. All of the guests were human, not a dwarf or Vashoth among them, and Arethin was the only elf in formal dress. The other elves were all servants, but Arethin knew that they were Briala's people. Briala had spent the better part of the last year infiltrating the Winter Palace's ranks, and now everyone staffed there answered to her. 

The guests murmured to each other, and what the group could hear was mostly gossip, nothing about the war or the Alliance presence.

Cassandra was already nervous, her fists clenched and her shoulders tense. 

“Have you been to a great many parties like these?” Arethin asked.

Cassandra nodded. “Yes. Many times. I hate them.”

“Not so loud,” Josephine hissed. “Cassandra, you know you cannot be blunt with the Game!”

“Honestly, my dear, you would think you had never played,” Vivienne tutted. 

“I would rather have never done so,” Cassandra muttered. 

“Well, my dear, we hardly have a choice, do we?”

Leliana rejoined them. 

“Elthina is here,” she hissed.

“What?” Arethin exclaimed.

“She decided to come herself—presumably she and Dubois have a plan.”

“What do we do?” 

“I will keep a watch on Giuseppina,” Leliana said. “Briala's people have told us that there might be Venatori and Qunari agents here, so be on guard. For now, wait a few moments, then come in and follow me. Allow me time to scope the place out more thoroughly.”

Leliana left them again, and Arethin turned her attention to the crowd of guests and onlookers.

“Those must be the Alliance representatives,” Arethin heard someone murmur. 

“Who's the elf?” was spoken loudly enough that it made Arethin scowl. “I see tattoos—a Dalish savage, really! What does the Alliance think they're playing at?”

Arethin's hand curled into a fist.

Cassandra put a hand on her shoulder. “They are doing it on purpose,” she muttered. “They try to test what kind of player you are.” 

Vivienne smirked. “My dear Lady Lavellan,” she said, her voice pitched so that nearby eavesdroppers could hear. “What magic have you been studying recently? I noticed that you had taken to spending a great deal of time in the company of apostates, it must be quite the unusual field of study.”

“Oh—it's a study of dream magic,” Arethin said, catching on. “I'm learning how to walk in and out of people's dreams. If you do it in the correct way, you might influence the dreams of others, turn them into good dreams or bad, and they would hardly notice.”

“Fascinating. Is such a thing very dangerous? In Montsimmard, we always considered such explorations to be too uncontrollable to be done safely.”

“Oh, no,” Arethin said. She smirked to herself. “Elves are very good at working with chaotic forces.”

“How marvelous!” Vivienne was smiling as well, pleased that Arethin had caught on so quickly. “So, presumably, if someone was particularly uncouth, you could walk into their dreams while they slept and they couldn't do a thing about it.”

“Exactly. And most human mages wouldn't know how to counter it at first—and anyone who wasn't a mage would have no idea where to start.”

They both laughed, and to her pleasure, Arethin realized the talk around them had fallen silent. 

Josephine pinched the bridge of her nose. “I suppose terrifying the other guests is one way to establish yourself,” she muttered.

“Of course it is, my dear,” Vivienne murmured in her ear. “How else do I do anything?” with a pleasant smile, she held an arm out for Josephine. Josephine sighed and took it. 

“You two should go in ahead of us,” Josephine instructed to Cassandra and Arethin. “It wouldn't do for you to go in alone,” 

“Very well,” Arethin said, and held her arm out for a distinctly unhappy Cassandra. Cassandra was flushed with irritation, but she put her hand over Arethin's arm anyway.

“With luck, my friend, the party will be over soon and you will get to bash someone's head with your sword,” Arethin told her.

“If only.” Cassandra muttered.

They walked into a massive hall, shining with what seemed to be thousands of golden lights. The candlelight reflected off of shining brass statues and huge paintings, the marble floor inlaid with an elaborate design.

Cassandra gave a disgusted snort upon seeing it. 

Leliana met them again at the entrance to the main ballroom. 

“Leliana,” Cassandra sighed in relief. “Has anything else happened?”

Leliana shook her head. “Morrigan—the court enchanter—is not here yet,” she said with a slight frown. “One wing of the palace is closed off, and Briala's people are investigating. This way, the Empress will present herself soon.” 

They went into the ballroom, which was just as well-decorated as the main hall, but even larger. Candle lights like tiny stars accentuated the room, and a scent of roses and jasmine drifted on the air. There were doors to balconies outside that were flung open, allowing the night breeze to waft through the hall. 

Sunk in the center of the room was a vast floor, clearly for dancing or announcing people. It was to the side of this that they and the other guests gathered as the Empress prepared to make her entrance. 

After several moments of waiting, the herald finally announced her. “Her Radiance, Empress Celene Valmont I!” the herald called out. 

Celene came out of a side door, sweeping over the hall with an effortless elegance. She was a tall, ice-pale woman with blonde hair elaborately coiffed and braided at the back of her head. She wore a silken blue dress with silver embroidery that shimmered where it caught the light. 

Only about half the crowd cheered. The other half said nothing. Arethin and Cassandra exchanged a worried look.

Beside Celene another woman appeared, a blonde in dark silk. Leliana leaned over to Arethin.

“That is Grand Duchess Florianne--Florianne is Gaspard's sister,” Leliana murmured in Arethin's ear. “When he was killed, there was some talk that Celene would have her executed as well.”

“But she didn't?” Arethin whispered back. 

“No, she did not.”

“Why?” 

Leliana shook her head. “I am uncertain. Celene says that she wants the family to redeem itself in her eyes, but that is not the real reason. There is some variety of power play at work here.” 

Celene positioned herself above the sunken dancefloor, on the far end of the hall. Florianne stood several feet behind her. 

“We will be presented soon,” Leliana hissed. “Be ready when the herald announces you.”

Arethin nodded. Vivienne and Josephine had caught up with them, and they all watched intently as the first of the guests was presented.

To everyone's discomfort, it was Elthina. 

“Most Holy, Divine Themistoclea,” the herald called, and Elthina went down the steps to approach Celene. “Successor to Divine Justinia, holder of the Sunburst Throne.”

Elthina wore the vestments of the Divine, the long white habit and headdress. The crowd was unnervingly quiet, and although the masks hid most people's expressions, there was an undeniable sense of tension.

“Most Holy,” Celene greeted Elthina with a gracious smile. “What a pleasure to see you here, in this troubled time. I can only hope that your presence will inspire peace.” the tiniest emphasis was placed on peace, and a tide of whispers swept through the crowd. 

“Of course, Your Radiance,” Elthina said pleasantly. “One only wants peace in times such as these.”

They looked at each other, each clearly expecting the other one to do something, and the silence stretched on. The whispers in the crowd grew louder. 

“I believe Her Radiance dislikes what the Cleric has done,” Vivienne murmured in Arethin's ear. Arethin nodded. 

At length, Elthina moved away, her face the picture of serenity. Celene, likewise, bore a pleasant expression. There was a moment of nervous quiet before the herald continued to read the list of introductions.

“General Madeline Dubois,” the herald called out, and surprisingly added no other title.

Dubois was a tall woman, who wore armor instead of a dress and, in a gesture utterly uncouth in the Orlesian court, she had no mask. She looked like she had walked in right off a battlefield. Her armor was polished to a shine and she wore a long red cape, and though she had a sheath for a sword at her hip, it was empty. In contrast to Celene's braided white-blonde hair, hers was an unbound mane of steel-gray, and a scar crossed her face. 

“Welcome, General,” Celene said, her tone neutral. 

“Thank you, and a fine evening,” Dubois grinned. She gave Celene a bow that was undeniably mocking, and sauntered off, ignoring the nobility that surrounded her. 

“That is Dubois,” Leliana hissed. 

“I still cannot believe they just...let her come here,” Josephine whispered, shaking her head.

“Peace talks would be conducted one way or another,” Vivienne murmured. “And in Orlais, all must be done in the correct fashion.”

“What about Giuseppina?” Arethin asked. 

Leliana nodded towards the floor. 

“Lady Giuseppina, cousin to her Radiance,” the herald announced.

Giuseppina, to her credit, held her head high as she crossed the ballroom floor, and looked only mildly uncomfortable in her long dress. She curtsied before Celene, who inclined her head. 

“Welcome, cousin,” Celene said. “We did not expect you would be here.”

“Thank you,” Giuseppina said, her voice trembling slightly. “I—I thought I should come and give support in this troubled time.”

“We thank you, of course.”

Giuseppina curtsied again and she got off the floor as fast as she possibly could. 

She came to join Arethin's group, and she was pale and sweating. Leliana patted her arm. 

Now with was Arethin's turn. She walked down the steps, towards Celene, and smirked when, although she heard little gasps of surprise from the crowd, she heard no disparaging remarks about elves. Either Briala's people had gotten around, or word of her and Vivienne's conversation in the garden had.

“Lady Arethin Nadur Lavellan, the Mediator of the Alliance, vanquisher of the Breach--” the herald went on with a lot of other titles Arethin was fairly sure she didn't have, so she tuned them out. 

Celene looked down at her, her expression impenetrable behind her shimmering golden mask. 

“We bid you welcome, and welcome you to the court, Lady,” Celene said. “We hope that your calming influence will aid us in this tumultuous time, just as our cousin's.”

“Of course, your Radiance.”

Celene looked her up and down, eyes hovering on Arethin's tattoos. “Tell me, is the Winter Palace all that you had hoped?”

“It's...beyond what I could have imagined,” Arethin said. 

She bowed to Celene, and retreated, joining her group back at the side. Cassandra was introduced, and snapped at the herald while he was in the middle of reciting her full name. Josephine winced.

Vivienne was introduced as 'Madame Vivienne de Fer, leader of the Loyal Mages of Thedas,' which pleased her greatly. Josephine was introduced as an ambassador, and Leliana was not introduced by the herald at all. 

Finally, their introductions were done. 

“What do we do now?” Arethin asked. “Should I speak with Dubois, or Celene? Where is Briala, do you know? And what of Elthina?”

“The Empress and the general are under the impression that the Alliance is neutral in this,” Leliana said. “It would be odd if you did not speak with them both at the moment. However, ensure that you speak to both.”

Arethin nodded. “And Briala?”

“She is here,” Leliana assured her. “Likely she will make contact with us in her own time.”

“Elthina?”

“She will be watching us, doubtless,” Vivienne said. “So we must keep an eye on her as well.”

“Of course,” Leliana said. “I do not believe she will try anything here, not when so many of our supporters are here, and the only way for her to regain power is to control the throne, but even so...” 

“What about me?” Giuseppina asked. 

“Stay close to us,” Leliana instructed. “Everyone else—you must learn more information.”

They all agreed, and Arethin went to go find General Dubois.

Dubois was busy inspecting the food, but not eating any of it. She grinned when she saw Arethin.

“Ah—Mediator,” she said, rolling Arethin's title in her mouth like it was something to be savored. “I quite enjoyed your work on the Breach. Very spectacular.”

Arethin blinked, for a moment not quite sure how to take this compliment. “Thank you, General.” she said at last, inclining her head.

Dubois leaned back against the table and folded her arms. “So, you and your people are here to watch?”

“We are.”

“Why?”

“You are one of our neighbors,” Arethin said with a shrug. “And the Inquisition part of the Alliance is worried.”

“What about you? I know the Dalish dislike Orlais. This place must _sting_.”

Arethin regarded her, now more curious. “You have Halam'shiral, we have Skyhold and Orzammar. It evens out in the end.”

“But you do not have Orzammar. The dwarven Queen sits upon that throne.”

“The Queen, who is married to one of us. The family tree is a bit complicated, but essentially, she's considered a cousin twice removed.”

Dubois blinked. “What is it that you hope to gain from being here?” she asked. “And don't bother with that Game nonsense. I haven't the time.”

Arethin appraised her for a long moment. “In the end, we wish for Orlais to be stable enough that we might continue with our own work,” she said. “The civil war is extremely concerning to all of our participating parties."

“Works, work...and what work would that be?” Dubois raised her eyebrows. 

“Is what we do so very obscure?” 

“Apart from that thing in the sky? I've hardly an idea what you people are up to in your mountains.” she chuckled. “I've heard the wildest rumors, of course, but I never trust simple rumors.”

“Rumors? Like what?”

“Mad things...that you escaped being crushed by an avalanche. That Madame de Fer's second in command is a runaway Tevinter magister. One of the old elf gods lives in your fortress, and the Dalish queen gave you a magic doorway that lets you go anywhere you want.”

Arethin let slip a laugh of her own. “There is no Dalish queen.”

“Ah, I see,” Dubois' look turned knowing. “So, which of these rumors is true?”

“I did escape an avalanche, one that destroyed Haven.”

“I heard that it was caused by some kind of...darkspawn creature,” Dubois' voice dropped to a hushed tone. “Something ancient and evil, who was behind the disappearance of the red Templars and the Wardens alike.”

“Do you have a name for this creature?”

“Since when do darkspawn have names?” Dubois asked. 

“Most do not.”

“Hm.” Dubois gave her an appraising look. “All I know for certain is that you are tangling with the Venatori.”

“And what do you think of them?”

She rolled her eyes. “Tevinter cult nonsense. I haven't the time for it.”

“It's far from nonsense,” Arethin said. “The Venatori are very dangerous, and we need to stop them and their allies. Orlais being in turmoil only inhibits our goal.” 

Dubois tilted her head to one side. “So, if pressed, who would the Alliance support as Empress?”

“Oh, well, that question differs from person to person,” Arethin said. “We have quite a great many Fereldens in the Alliance. Most of them would tell you to just put some scullery maid on the throne and have done with it.”

“And you?” Dubois narrowed her eyes. “What do you think?”

“You know about Dalish history, General,” Arethin said. “You should come to your own conclusions.”

Dubois' lips pressed into a thin line. “I see.”

To Arethin's surprise, she clapped her on the shoulder. 

“I can't blame you,” she said. “I'd hate anyone who stole a city of mine, too.” she grinned. 

“Yes, well, it is a fairly common complaint, isn't it?”

“Quite common, by the sounds of it.” Dubois looked over Arethin's shoulder. “One of your party is glaring daggers at me. The tall woman with black hair.” she smirked. “Afraid I'll steal you away, I'm sure.”

“Her face is always like that.”

“Or she's worried that the dastardly general will make off with her lovely elvhen escort,” Dubois winked at Arethin. 

In spite of herself, Arethin flushed. She schooled her face into a neutral expression, however. 

Dubois glanced over her head, and narrowed her eyes. “If you'll excuse me, Mediator, I believe I see someone else I should speak to.”

“Of course.”

Arethin watched Dubois leave, then went to speak to Celene.

Celene smiled to see her.

“Your Radiance,” Arethin said, bowing.

Celene inclined her head even so slightly. “I am quite pleased to see the Alliance here,” she said. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Perhaps you can help us with our...troubles.” Celene sighed and turned to the balcony. “You healed the sky. Perhaps you might also help to heal Orlais.”

“Perhaps.”

“I saw you spoke with the General.”

“I need to hear from everyone. That is why the Alliance is here—to hear everyone's side, and learn who is truly right.”

“I hope you choose wisely, then,” Celene said. “I saw that your company arrived with my cousin, Giuseppina. I was quite surprised to see her here.”

“She wished to come,” Arethin lied smoothly. “She is one of our allies within the Chantry on the Orlesian side of the mountains.”

“I see.” Celene nodded. “Do enjoy the ball, Mediator. We will see you when the talks begin.”

She smiled, and Arethin nodded and turned to leave. 

She shuddered as she walked away. Both Dubois and Celene made her skin crawl, and made her ever more glad that they had chosen someone else entirely to lead. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Florianne sidle up to the Empress and watch Arethin's retreat. 

Someone caught Arethin's gaze, and Arethin was surprised to see Briala, wearing a plain servant's shift and silver mask. Briala beckoned to her from the other side of the hall. Arethin moved to join her, not too quickly, lest she be noticed. 

Despite Arethin's worries, no one seemed to notice Briala at all, the eyes of the elegantly masked and gowned nobles sliding right over the elf. 

“Ambassador Briala, nice to see you here,” Arethin said.

Briala snorted. “If only it were as pleasant to be here,” she said. “Tell me, how often have you been mistaken for a servant?”

“Not often,” Arethin admitted. “The tattoos are a giveaway.”

Briala chuckled, and lead Arethin to a more secluded part of the palace. 

“Have you seen anything interesting?” Arethin asked.

“There is a wing of the palace that is supposedly closed for renovation,” she said. “Even my people are having a hard time getting inside. That bodes poorly.”

“The servants?” Arethin frowned. “Wouldn't you be the ones to clean it and such?”

“Exactly,” Briala nodded. “But we have been blocked off, and only very specific construction crews have been allowed in.”

“What do you think it's closed for?”

“Who is to say? At this point, it is possible a rift has opened up, or someone has commandeered it for their own purposes. We are examining it.”

“Does either Celene or Dubois know you are with us?”

Briala smiled back. “They do not.” she shook her head. “For Dubois, it would be irrelevant. She feels she can succeed with martial strength, no matter the challenge. For Celene...she is not nearly so adept at the Game as she likes to think.”

“Oh?”

“For all that she knows her own people, the ways of those who are not courtiers are completely incomprehensible to her,” Briala's mouth twisted in revulsion. “She is convinced you Dalish are half-myths—she is worse than a child listening to a Hahren's stories in an Alienage. Even worse, she knows less about mages and magic. She is fascinated by even the most quaint of parlor tricks a mage can conjure.”

“Even with a court mage at her side?”

Briala's expression turned bitter. “Yes. She lays claim to the University, and to learning, but what she cannot control she does not care to truly learn.”

“Is there a way we can use any of it?”

“Perhaps you can use your magic and dazzle her into doing what you want, if someone else has not already done so,” Briala snorted. “No, there is little about her you can use to any real effect. She will just destroy it. That is what she does.”

“I sense bitterness here.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Not particularly.” Arethin considered for a moment. “And Elthina? What of her?”

“She is possibly Dubois' ally, but it is most likely she is here for her own interests. Watch for her manipulations—Halamshiral is not a mire like Kirkwall, but a spider can spin a web anywhere.”

“What do your people think of her?”

Briala shrugged. “We know what she has done. None of us trust her. Fortunately, many of the courtiers are unlikely to trust her as well, after that business in Val Royeaux.”

“That's good for us, at least,” Arethin pointed out.

“Reasonably so. It pleases me that there are few Templars in Halamshiral.” Briala scowled up at a huge statue depicting Emperor Drakon. “Felassan calls Elvhenan more decadent and wasteful and ridiculous than Orlais could ever hope to be, but I am not sure.”

“Solas says the same thing, but considering the way they both dress, I am not really sure if they know what 'ostentatious' actually means.”

Briala chuckled, then sighed. “If only Felassan could be here,” she admitted. “I would feel better with him at my back.”

“Well, I am no thousand year old ancient elf, but I am here,” Arethin assured her. Briala smiled at her. 

“You should get back to the ballroom,” she said. “They will miss you if you are gone too long. My people will keep searching, we will find some more information for you.”

“What of Morrigan? Is she here yet?”

Briala shook her head. “No. We're looking for her, as well.”

Briala left her, and Arethin wandered the Palace, listening for anything useful. She came across several gardens where there was a great deal of gossip, but nothing specific enough for her purposes.

The place made her stomach clench. She could imagine herself to be in Val Royeaux, but she always remembered in the back of her mind that it was Halam'shiral. Her people's home. 

Most of the guests avoided her. To their credit, she was not mistaken for a servant, either accidentally or on purpose, and she heard no nasty comments about elves. She was never more thankful for Vivienne's ruthless approach to the Game. Making everyone afraid of her certainly spared her a great many uncomfortable conversations. She realized Vivienne must have had to develop a strategy to avoid similar insults about mages. 

On a balcony, she looked out over the city. There were lights, more lights than she had ever seen at night before. 

She wondered what the skyline looked like, before Orlais had conquered it. Were there trees? Huge vhenadahls that reached up towards the sky—or perhaps there were aravels, or something like aravels, rooted in place, red sails catching the breeze but never needing to move. 

Did it look like how Elvhenan had looked? What were the libraries like? Were there huge walls to keep out unwanted visitors, or perhaps it was all open, all the way to the Graves?

She didn't know. There were some pictures of how Halam'shiral had looked, faded drawings, but it was so long ago that no one could remember for certain. A somniari might get an impression, but it would only be memories, nothing sure. 

She clenched the railing of the balcony tightly. 

She'd make it right. She could fix the sky. She, an elf of the People, had made friends with the Dread Wolf. She could do anything. 

This place would belong to her people again. She knew it. 

“Lady Lavellan?” 

She turned around, surprised. General Dubois stood behind her. 

“General,” she said, looking at her with some wariness that she was careful not to show in her face. “How nice to see you again.”

Dubois held out a hand.

“Come, Mediator,” Dubois said. “Share a dance with me.” it was barely a request, more of a statement than anything.

“Do you enjoy dancing?” Arethin asked, eyeing the woman's heavy armor. 

“No, but this makes Seeker Pentaghast jealous. It will be funny.”

Arethin regarded her with a flat stare. “I hardly see how that's in my best interest, or very likely.”

“Ah, you cannot see what is in front of you!” Dubois leaned in close, her face schooled into a flirtatious smile. “I have something for you. The walls have ears.” her tone was deadly serious.

Arethin's eyelids flickered. “How can I possibly resist such a charming request?” she drawled. 

Dubois snorted. “Charming? That's the last thing I'd be expected to be called.”

“If this is all just to share a dance, I will be mildly disappointed,” Arethin said, and took her hand.

“Well,” Dubois said, taking them back to the ballroom. “I will not be.”

They went to the dancefloor and Dubois began to lead in a dance. 

“There are Venatori here,” Dubois murmured, pulling Arethin close to her.

“Are there indeed?”

Of course there were. Leliana knew that, but why was Dubois interested now?

“Yes, the filthy Vint bastards thought now would be a good time to set up shop. I think one of the nobility is on their side—I'd bet on Florianne.”

“Why her, of all people?”

“She isn't on Celene's side, or my side, and definitely not on your side. She's always had a bit of a—romantic conqueror streak about her, you would say.”

“How do you know? You're no noble.”

“No, but I pay attention.”

“And that gets you so many places.”

“it does indeed. And there's something here worse than Venatori,” Dubois murmured in Arethin's ear. “Qunari.”

Arethin's pulse pounded in her ears. They had so hoped that wouldn't be the case. “You don't say?”

“Oh, I do say. Very, very recent. None of the big ones—I think perhaps a Viddethari or a Ben-hassrath, but an elf one.”

“Quite a serious accusation.”

She would need to let Briala know. If the Ben-hassrath was an elf--

“Of course it is.”

“And if the Qunari were here, why would they be here?” she asked. “What would be the point?”

“I think they're just watching.” Dubois said. She put an arm under Arethin's back and bent her over, then pulled her up. “I don't know what they want. They're probably here to conquer us, but why they're waiting is beyond me.”

“And why tell me this?”

“I want to see what you'll do.” she smirked. “How would you like an army to lend to your cause, Mediator?”

“We already have one.”

“And a god, by the sounds of it.”

“Now,” Arethin raised her eyebrows as the song finished. “You know you cannot trust rumors, General.”

Dubois let go of her, and they bowed and parted ways.

Arethin met back up with her group. Cassandra was looking sour, but Leliana and Josephine seemed very interested. Josephine fidgeted, glancing around and tapping her feet. 

“What did Dubois say?” Leliana asked. 

Arethin frowned, troubled. “She said Florianne was up to something—she isn't on Dubois' side, our side, or Celene's.”

Leliana nodded. “I suspected so. Anything else?”

“There are Qunari agents here—she doesn't know why, and she couldn't tell me who.”

Leliana and Josephine and Cassandra all looked at each other, worried.

“She said that the one they found was an elf, a Viddethari or Ben-hassrath,” Arethin said. “She thought it was a worse problem than the Venatori.”

“It could be,” Josephine said. “Briala hasn't mentioned...”

“She may not know,” Cassandra said. “if her people are compromised in some way, it is possible that she never knew in the first place.”

“If the Qunari have reached this far--” Arethin cut herself off, and everyone looked troubled.

“We must speak with Briala,” Leliana decided, rubbing her forehead. “It is not surprising that the Qunari are here. Elthina is, after all.”

“No, I know that,” Arethin said. “I simply—I thought we might have more time.”

“We can't do anything about Florianne now,” Josephine said, glancing around. “Briala's people will look out for her.”

"Then what do we do?” Cassandra asked. “We must take care of the Venatori, of course--”

Leliana nodded. “We will try and get into the wing that has been sealed off,” she said. “Doubtless that has something to do with this.”

“What can we do about the Qunari?” Arethin asked. “Dubois said they were just here to watch, but she didn't know for sure.”

“If they are here to watch, then so must we,” Vivienne said. “In any case, I believe we are overlooking a more pressing concern. Why would she even tell this to you?” Vivienne asked.

“To curry favor, perhaps?” Cassandra said. "Perhaps Elthina is not giving her what she wishes."

Arethin nodded. “I think that's the case,” she said in agreement.

“She must think very highly of our chances,” Vivienne said. “Or believe our influence is very great.” her brow was knitted, and she frowned slightly. 

“Or, she knows what we plan to do,” Josephine said. “And wishes to undermine us.”

“She would be a terrible Empress,” Vivienne said. “We cannot support her.”

“No one was going to, Vivienne,” Arethin said. “We should investigate a bit further.”

Leliana nodded. “My people and Briala's will coordinate,” she said. “We will learn of what is happening.”

“And what do we do for now?” Cassandra asked.

“Blend in.”

Cassandra sighed. “Very well.” the group went their separate ways, Arethin falling in beside Cassandra.

“Do you know something else Dubois told me?” Arethin said. “It was very strange.”

“What was it?” Cassandra frowned at her, confused.

“She said that she wanted to dance with me to—make you jealous,” heat rose to her face. “It was ridiculous, but I don't know why she'd say it. To wrong-foot me, maybe, or--” she blinked at Cassandra, whose golden skin was flushed a very deep pink. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Cassandra growled.

Arethin shook her head. “She said things like that earlier, too,” she said with a frown. “I don't know why, it seemed so _odd_.”

Cassandra nodded jerkily. “Yes, odd. Of course.” she glanced around. “Oh, Maker,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Come—Leliana said to blend. People are watching us. We must play their foolish game,” she gritted her teeth. “A bit longer.”

Arethin sighed. “Well—come, we can speak on the dancefloor,” she reached out and tugged Cassandra's wrist.

Cassandra flushed. “I—this is not the time--”

“Of course it is. I do not want to have to speak with any of these people, and we cannot vanish without being noticed.”

“I—suppose,” Cassandra said, still very red.

“Oh, come now, dancing with me cannot be so horrid,” Arethin rolled her eyes.

“No!” Cassandra said. “No, not at all,” 

“Then come. For at least a song or two.”

“I detest dancing,” Cassandra informed her. 

“And I have never danced in a ballroom before.”

“You danced with Dubois.”

“What does she matter?”

Cassandra's eyelids flickered. “We cannot afford to be distracted...”

“Nor can we afford to be examined too closely.”

Cassandra sighed and took Arethin's hand, but a tiny, pleased smile touched her lips. 

They spun across the dancefloor, the crowd melting into nothing as Arethin took the lead. The music poured into Arethin's bones, and all she could see was Cassandra's face.

“You are good at this,” Cassandra murmured.

“I suppose I am. So are you.”

“Long practice.”

“is that so?”

Cassandra nodded. “I have had to deal with such nonsense before I was a Seeker, and more when I was younger,” she said. 

“I see where that would have been a problem for you.”

The song came to a close, and quite suddenly, Cassandra pulled Arethin into a deep kiss.

Arethin was startled, but not displeased. She relaxed, and pulled Cassandra closer to her. 

After they finally came up for air, Arethin laughed breathlessly. “My, my,” she said. “You know, I wasn't really expecting that.”

Cassandra blushed, and made to pull away, but didn't. “I—that was—unprofessional,” she said, flushing scarlet. 

“If I might remind you, you started it.” 

“I—I apologize,” she said, pulling away at last. “I should not have--”

“Cassandra.” 

Cassandra glanced at her. 

Arethin's mind felt like a thunderstorm, her heart threatening to pound its way out of her chest. 

She could still taste Cassandra on her lips, and it made her feel lightheaded, made her feel like champagne ran through her veins. She wanted to laugh, and hold Cassandra's hand, but she didn't do any of those things. 

“...we should get back to work.” she managed at length.

“I suppose we should,” Cassandra sighed. 

They parted, and Arethin retreated to the front antechamber, her heart still pounding.


	22. On Blacken'd Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the afterparty at halam'shiral

Arethin watched the crowd from the sidelines, fascinated by the various clothes and masks, and trying to listen for anything useful. 

A woman without a mask came walking down the steps, resplendent in purple silk.

“Well, well well,” she said, locking eyes with Arethin. “What have we here?”

“I really couldn't say,” Arethin said. “What do you mean?”

“A member of the Alliance here and overseeing the festivities—how curious,” the woman's golden eyes flashed and a smirk played about her lips. 

“Is it?”

“Is it not?” the woman tilted her head to one side. “I am Morrigan. I believe your Nightingale has been searching for me.”

“Ah, you are Morrigan,” Arethin nodded. “Yes, Leliana has been looking. Are you friends? She was rather vague about it.”

“Friends? That is far too familiar a term. We had a working relationship, I believe. I understand I might have information useful for your Alliance.” 

“It's possible. If you know where Su—”

“Shh,” Morrigan said softly. “You know these walls have ears.”

“We might speak on the dancefloor, if you wish.”

“As far as I understand, that is your favorite method of interacting with the court ladies,” Morrigan said. 

“Is there one you prefer?”

“Alas, no. I have business elsewhere. You might want to investigate the wing of the Palace that has been closed off, however.”

“Yes, we know. We are looking.”

“Then go. I shall find your Nightingale, and then we shall talk.”

Arethin watched Morrigan leave, feeling somewhat discomfited. Briala hurried to Arethin's side.

“What is it?” Arethin asked.

“A rift in the closed wing opened,” she hissed in Arethin's ear.

“A rift?” Arethin blinked, and her mark shuddered. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, and there had been nothing there before,” Briala whispered. “It's the Venatori, making their move. You must close it!”

Arethin nodded, and Briala pressed a key into her hand. “I'll get Cassandra and Vivienne. We'll take care of it.”

She gathered her companions, and they hurried to the locked wing. In contrast to the main hall, the locked wing was dark and cold, dusty and abandoned. 

“No one has been here in quite some time,” Vivienne observed. 

“If the rift only appeared now, why would the wing have been closed off before?” Cassandra asked with a frown. 

“Perhaps it was already unstable,” Arethin suggested. 

“That is possible,” Vivienne said with a slight frown. 

“Do you think something else happened?”

“Perhaps the Venatori have been using this place for their own reasons,” Vivienne suggested.

“Under Celene's nose?” Cassandra asked. 

“If Florianne has been working against her, it is entirely possible—Celene will have been busy with the civil war, too busy to investigate everything her courtiers have been doing.”

They investigated the dark wing, until Arethin felt the nearby rift. 

They opened a door into a small courtyard, where a rift bubbled and spat, smelling of violets and lemons. 

On a balcony opposite them, Florianne stood, flanked by mercenaries and Venatori.

“I see the great Mediator has come,” Florianne said. 

"What are you doing here?” Arethin asked. 

“Oh—simply ensuring that my master has your hand,” she said with a smirk. “Perhaps your Alliance has those who would claim godhood, but my master _will be_ a god, not a pretender.”

Arethin walked around the rift, watching Florianne all the while. It was possible she could use the rift to her advantage, but only if she was careful.

“And your master is Corypheus?” she asked.

“Of course,” Florianne gave a tinkling laugh and tossed her head.

“What could you possibly have to gain by joining him?” Cassandra demanded. “All will be crushed underneath him!”

Florianne scoffed. “You would hardly understand,” she said. “This world is crumbling—the civil war alone proves that. Why stay on a sinking ship, like a trapped rat, when one could have a place of honor in his new world?”

Arethin sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “He is a darkspawn,” she growled, annoyed. “A diseased, rotting darkspawn. He toys with powers that are not his and claims to command them.”

“And I suppose your knife-ear friends know how they work?” Florianne tutted. “I know you and your little allies have been at artifacts you have no business playing with. You elves really do get above your station sometimes.”

Arethin raised her eyebrows. “ _Our_ station?” she said, anger lacing her voice. “Your people cannot even use our things without becoming ill!”

“Best not ague, Mediator,” they looked to see General Dubois emerge from a side door. “Nobles never have an ounce of sense in their heads.”

“Dubois,” Florianne sighed.

“Florianne,” Dubois said as she strode forward. “I thought you would be up to something. You noble types—so sneaky.” 

Florianne rolled her eyes. “And here you are as well,” she said. “First the knife-ear, then the brute—what is the court coming to that you lot can be let in?” 

Dubois raised her sword. 

“Take care of the rift,” She instructed Arethin. “I'll take care of her.”

Arethin grabbed the edges of the rift and pulled them closed, as Florianne shrieked for her mercenaries to attack. Vivienne was immediately at Arethin's back, drawing a sword from thin air. 

Dubois charged for Florianne, who tried to run. Dubois cornered her and Florianne pulled a long, wicked blade that gleamed with a red lyrium edge. 

The rift began to close, and Arethin yanked at it, sending everyone on the battlefield to the ground with a magical shockwave. 

“Lavellan!” Cassandra snapped, trying to get to her feet.

“It hardly adjusts for friendly fire!” Arethin yelled over her shoulder.

“Stop toying with it, then!”

Arethin rolled her eyes as Cassandra locked swords with one of the Venatori. Apparently no one had seen fit to give Florianne any mages, so Vivienne was the only one on the battlefield. A mercenary approached Arethin as she sewed the Breach together, and Vivienne sent him hurtling into the air and crashing back down again.

“Hurry, Lavellan,” Vivienne said, sending a bolt of fire into another mercenary. “Our time grows short.”

Meanwhile, Florianne and Dubois battled on the other side of the garden. Dubois took care to try and avoid the red-glowing blade.

“Red lyrium?' she demanded of Florianne. “Are you really so hard-up for an advantage?”

Florianne swung the blade at her, and grinned when Dubois stepped out of the way. 'It's working, isn't it?”

The rift finally healed, and with a crack, Arethin pulled her hand down. She stalked across the battlefield as Cassandra and Vivienne cut down the last of the mercenaries. 

“No,” Florianne hissed, glancing her way.

“You will both stop,” Arethin said. “We have not the time for this.” She pointed at Florianne, and a frost spell made the duchess stop dead in her tracks.

“Me?” Dubois pressed a hand to her chest. “What did I do?”

“Plunging all of Orlais into civil war is not a crime, in your eyes?” Cassandra demanded, coming up behind Arethin.

“You'd want to hand the empire over to that insipid madwoman?” Dubois demanded. “Not a year ago she lit this very city on fire! A few well-placed hangings would have done the trick, but no, apparently the woman who _so_ cares for knowledge and learning decided that arson would be the way to go.”

“Don't pretend you did this for the good of the empire,” Florianne hissed. She twitched, trying to break through the spell. “Animal brute—this is all for your own gain.”

Dubois nodded. “Very true. And your joining with that darkspawn monster...isn't, somehow?”

Florianne managed a smirk. “My gain is more important than yours,” she said, and the ice spell shattered. She lunged forward, her blade out, and Dubois, surprised, couldn't get her guard up in time.

The blade drove through Dubois, and she choked, surprised. 

“You--” she gasped. “You--”

Florianne only smiled. 

Arethin sent the two flying apart with a spell, and winced when the blade wrenched out of Dubois' abdomen. The Duchess fell to the ground, but quickly recovered, and was on her feet in a flash, dashing in the opposite direction. 

“After her!” Arethin said, taking chase. Cassandra and Vivienne were on her heels in an instant, leaving Dubois lying on the ground in a steadily spreading pool of blood. 

Florianne was very fast, and they couldn't get ahead of her. She lead them throughout the wing, dodging both Vivienne and Arethin's spells. Finally, she burst through a set of double doors, into the main ballroom, to gasps and shrieks from the guests. She looked around and bolted towards Celene. 

She grabbed the Empress around the middle, and Florianne held the knife up to Celene's throat. 

Arethin and her companions stopped cold. 

Florianne smirked. “There,” she said. “Either you let me go, or she dies. Then where's your empire?”

Arethin readied a spell, as did Vivienne, but it was Briala who sprung into action first.

“So?” she said. “What care have we?”

Celene's eyes were huge and frightened as they were riveted on Briala. 

“Bria--” she whispered.

“Briala--” Arethin hissed, but Briala shook her head.

“Why should we care what happens to her?” Briala demanded of Florianne. “She is as a mad king, an insane general. The same as you and your master, only for different reasons.”

Florianne bared her teeth.

“It's no use bluffing, rattus,” she hissed. “I know you're the Empress' pet knife-ear.”

Briala shrugged. “And you are grasping for power after your brother has been slain by her,” she nodded at Celene. “So?”

Florianne narrowed her eyes. Briala looked at her steadily. Florianne's gaze caught the soldiers advancing on her, and backed up several steps. 

“Bria--” Celene whispered. 

“Go on, Duchess,” Briala taunted. “Are you going to do it?”

Florianne's face was white with rage. 

“Are you too weak?” Briala said, smirking. “Or do you not want to let go of your only advantage?” 

They circled Florianne, and the duchess' eyes darted from one of them to the other. She could not kill Celene and escape, and the Venatori were at a distinct disadvantage.

Wherever the Qunari agent was, they were certainly not on Florianne's side.

“Then, in exchange for your Empress, I shall leave,” Florianne said. 

“I don't think so,” Briala shook her head. 

“Do you really think you'd leave here alive?” Cassandra scoffed. 

“You got yourself into this mess, Duchess,” Leliana taunted. “There is only one way out of it.”

Florianne looked between them again, then suddenly, drew her blade across Celene's throat and dropped her, turning to run.

A dagger slid from Briala's sleeve into her palm and she threw it, catching the older woman in the back. Florianne cried out and sprawled over the marble floor, blood already staining her dress. 

Alliance soldiers surrounded Florianne, who seemed to be quickly bleeding out. They turned their attention to Celene, who was rapidly turning white as more blood spilled out of her. 

“Should we call for a healer?” Cassandra asked, kneeling down next to the woman. She covered Celene's wound with her hands, but she shared a look with Arethin, who shook her head. The wound was so deep that even with the aid of a healer, it was not likely Celene would survive. 

Briala pressed her lips together, and went down on a knee next to Celene.

Celene's expression was hazy, but her eyes caught Briala's. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. 

Briala looked down at her, her expression utterly pitiless. “I do not think the Empress is worth our consideration any longer,” she said softly, not breaking eye contact with Celene. “What do you think, Lady Lavellan?”

Celene's eyes rolled up, and an awful rattle emerged from her mouth.

“The wound was too severe,” Arethin said. “Even a good healer would have trouble—there's nothing we can do here.”

“Then—there is nothing to be done,” Josephine said. 

Cassandra removed her hands, wiping the blood off on her trousers. 

The room was silent for a moment, then soon filled with shrieks of horror and panic. 

“What do we do now?” Cassandra asked. 

Arethin's head pounded. “Quiet!” she bellowed, using a quick amplification spell to make her voice heard. The crowd went quiet. 

“Where is Giuseppina?” Arethin asked Cassandra in a softer voice.

“Here,” Giuseppina came out from behind Leliana. “I'm here.” 

“There we are then,” Arethin said. “You're the empress now.”

The crowd rumbled, the nobles muttering amongst themselves.

Giuseppina stared at her. 

“Say something, before the crowd grows even more restless!” Arethin snapped. 

Giuseppina turned to the crowd. “Is there—is there any other member of Celene's family still alive?” she called out. 

No one spoke up.

“Then—then because she is dead, I am empress,” she said, her voice cracking on 'empress.' 

“No,” a voice rang out, and Elthina strode over. “You are no Empress.”

Giuseppina looked very cold all of a sudden, eyes blazing with hate.

“ _You_ ,” she snarled. “Pretender,” her voice was resplendent with an alien coldness. “You would dare dictate to me?” 

Elthina was shocked, taken aback. “I--”

“You killed our Most Holy, Divine Justinia!” she pointed an accusing finger at Elthina. “You dared claim the throne! How dare you show your face to me?”

“I did only what was needed,” Elthina said calmly. 

“No,” Giuseppina snapped. “You did not. I—I am Empress—at my side is Andraste's Herald, who you would have killed time and time again, as you did the Most Holy.”

“No elf is our Herald,” Elthina said, her voice growing more heated.

“And no true Divine would kill the one before her!”

“Murderer!” came a shout from the crowd. 

“No—that is the Most Holy!” someone else called out.

The crowd began to descend into fighting, people arguing over Elthina's status. Giuseppina looked to Arethin, worried, and Arethin sighed.

“Enough!” she bellowed, voice amplified again. The room fell silent. “Celene is dead. Dubois is dead. Florianne is dead. What will you do next?” 

The Templars that Elthina had brought with her began to make themselves known, and likewise so did the Alliance forces. 

“I dictate terms here, not any of you,” Elthina said, Templars flanking her.

“I do not think so,” Leliana said. 

Alliance soldiers surrounded the Templars.

“What shall it be?” Arethin asked. “Will you turn this into a fight?”

“You need not,” Giuseppina said. 

“Of course not,” Elthina said. “I am the Divine—thus I alone decide who has the throne. You, my child, do not.”

“Why?” Giuseppina asked. “Why are you the Divine? You brought the Maker's wrath when you killed the Most Holy. A tear in the sky—healed by the Herald, while your Templars went mad and lost their way.” 

Elthina's face twitched. “You are the ones who would tear apart Thedas in your scramble for power,” she said. “This elf, this mage, has let the other mages loose, set heretics and sorcerers into positions of power--”

“If you had the blessing of the Maker, none of it would have happened.”

The room fell silent, and again the nobles looked at each other, worried. 

“It was _your_ Templars— _your_ Lord Seeker—who invaded Val Royeaux,” Giuseppina declared. “You are no Divine. You are a bloody-handed murderer.” she looked to the guards, the soldiers positioned around the room. “So what shall it be?” she said. “What shall we do with a murderer of Divines?” she looked back at Elthina. “I say, she is to be taken away,” she said. “And locked in the lowest dungeon we can find for her.” 

“You cannot do this!” Elthina shouted. “I am the blessed of the Maker!”

“Divine-killer!” Giuseppina accused. She waved a hand, and the guards dragged Elthina off through the crowd.

Giuseppina turned to the crowd. 

“Now,” she said. “We must decide what to do next.” Giuseppina declared. “Please—let us be calm about this. Let us take care, for too little care has been taken.” 

The crowd calmed enough for everything to be cleaned up. Leliana kept Briala close by her side, and the bodies of Celene and Florianne were taken away. 

Dubois was still alive, not dead as Arethin had guessed. However her life was hanging by a bare thread. The red lyrium on the knife Florianne wielded made the chance of infection very possible, and Dubois had not regained consciousness yet. She was transported to a house of healing, outside the palace, under guard. 

“If she wakes up, she shall not be safe,” Arethin said. “She still has the military.”

“I—perhaps we can change that,” Giuseppina said. “That is what we're here for, after all.” 

“Maybe,” Arethin said, chewing her lip.

“Come,” Giuseppina said. “We are all exhausted. The danger has passed. Let us rest and recover, and then I shall speak to the people.”

Once several hours had passed, it was very late, almost dawn, and the nervous nobles gathered together in the ballroom once more, so Giuseppina could speak to them.

Giuseppina stepped forward. She looked around. “I am the last of Celene's family,” she declared. “You know me. I have not been at court, for the Maker has guided me to a different path.” she did not have the fire she had when facing Elthina, but her voice was strong enough.

The crowd muttered amongst itself, and Giuseppina raised her voice.

“I—I have seen what has been wrought from such terrible a war,” Giuseppina said, looking out over the crowd. “Celene, dead. Her would-be usurpers—all dead, except for Dubois, who is near death. Our fair city of Val Royeaux, burning—the Winter Palace, despoiled. This cannot continue. No more will war tear our country in two. We will cast our allegiance to those who have helped us repair our broken country—the Southern Alliance, and Lady Lavellan, without whom the world would be lost.”

“Is she the Herald, as the Inquisition claimed?” asked one noble woman. 

“I have seen nothing that says she is not,” Giuseppina said. “A woman sent to us in time of darkest need, who has defeated many great evils—who but the Maker could send such a woman?” 

“Who indeed?” Arethin muttered, her lip curled. 

“So, we will no longer have war,” Giuseppina said, her voice gaining strength. “We will no longer fight amongst ourselves, do you hear? I will have no more of death and destruction. The man who slays is brother is lost—so what does that make our country, where brother has killed countless brother?”

There was more talk among the crowd, but no one else dared to speak out.

“I will have no more of this. No more games, no more idleness, no more excesses and mortal weakness,” Giuseppina was gaining speed now, and Arethin exchanged a look with her companions. “If the Maker has sent a messenger, it is because we are in need of one. So—I will take our country in hand. We will come back to the Maker once more—no more tearing at ourselves and our neighbors, no more self-destruction.” she turned to Arethin. “What would you have me do, Lady Lavellan?” Giuseppina asked. “For you are the Herald of Andraste. You are the hand that guides the world, the messenger from the heavens. You are our light in time of need. So—what would you ask of me?”

Giuseppina had a fire in her eyes that was a little startling. 

“Well--” Arethin started, glancing around at her companions, who all gave shrugs. “I...

“We owe you a debt that can never be repaid, Herald.”

Arethin shook her head, thinking. “I am of the Dalish people,” Arethin said after a long moment of silence. “And the Alliance has taken much aid from the Dalish and their allies. Without them, we would not be here. Without the Dalish, _I_ would not be here.” 

The crowd began to mutter to itself, but Giuseppina continued to wait patiently. 

“If you truly believe me to be sent by your—by the Maker,” Arethin said. “Then consider why the Maker has sent a Dalish elf. Does he remember the promise Andraste made to Shartan, when She drove the Tevinters away? I am sure He does. And I am sure He remembers the great wrong done to my people, many years ago.”

Giuseppina's eyes were very wide, and Arethin saw that she understood. Briala's back straightened, and Arethin saw several of Briala's people push their way to the forefront of the crowd.

“I ask that you right this wrong, Empress,” Arethin said. “You return the lands stolen from us. This city is our city, our journey's end. These lands are our lands, given by Andraste's hand. If you will have peace, you will undo the wrong that has been dealt us.”

Giuseppina considered, and the crowd waited with baited breath. 

“I have read the Chant many times,” she said. “And I know the wrong of which you speak. Shartan aided Our Lady in her quest, and we let our own petty grievances obscure that. The wounds of Red Crossing and the war between my people and yours has been paid for in elvhen blood a hundred times over. You, my Lady, have given our world new light and new hope, and the Maker cannot have sent you to us without reason.” she nodded. “I will return Halam'shiral to you, Lady Lavellan. These lands of the Dales will be your own again.”

The crowd burst into absolute chaos. 

Briala stared, openmouthed, and though Giuseppina tried to quiet the crowd, they refused to be silent. 

Arethin registered insults, horrorstruck outcries, at least one man shouting about his mansion in the Dales, and more insults before Giuseppina could finally restore order. 

“The Lady has spoken!” Giuseppina called. “And shame on you, for defying her will!”

“She is no Herald of Andraste!” another noble woman spoke up. “A knife-eared witch--! This is an Alliance plot, a Dalish plot--”

Giuseppina narrowed her eyes. “I will hear no such thing spoken against her,” she said. “Because of her, the sky has healed. Because of you—because of _us_ —the Chantry devoured itself and our country was split in two.” she gestured to a guard, and the guard grabbed the noble woman. “If you speak against the Herald, you speak against me,” she said. “Is that what you wish?” 

“You are no empress!” another man exclaimed. Giuseppina pointed, and a guard seized him as well. 

“Swear your fealty,” Giuseppina said. “Or you will regret it.” 

A sword was drawn. Pressed to the man's throat.

He raised his hands. “Your Radiance,” he whispered.

Giuseppina smiled. “There. Better. Now we shall do as I say, and our country will prosper. Or, you can do as my would-be predecessors would have done, and lead us to destruction. The choice is, of course, yours. An Empress lives only to serve her people.” she inclined her head, and turned her back on the crowd, indicating her speech was over.

Arethin went over to her immediately.

“Giuseppina, I don't want--”

“It is alright, Herald,” Giuseppina said. “Your will shall be done.”

“But I--”

“Sometimes people must be shown the proper way to do things,” Giuseppina said, her eyes gleaming. “Such as the way it always is.”

Giuseppina left, and Cassandra and the others came over.

“I do not know that this will end well,” Arethin fretted.

“I fear you might be correct,” Cassandra said.

“Giuseppina could hardly be any worse than our other options,” Leliana said, glancing at Cassandra.

“Very true.”

“A masterful display,” came a voice from behind them, and they turned to see Morrigan approaching from the shadows.

“Is that so?” Arethin asked.

“Of course. You are the first Dalish who has gotten any Orlesian leader to do what you want in hundreds of years.” she smiled. “Be glad.”

“Indeed,” Arethin said, inclining her head. “What is it that you wish of us?”

“I wish to join your Alliance,” Morrigan said. “I have watched you, and I am impressed.”

“Would Surana be joining us too?” Leliana asked.

Morrigan tilted her head back. “Yes. Would that be a problem?” her tone was icy, and Arethin shot a look at Leliana. 

“No, that would be...that would be fine, thank you,” Arethin said. “We would greatly appreciate it.”

Morrigan smiled again. “Then shall we join your party to return to Skyhold? I am aware of your use of eluvians.”

“It won't be comfortable for you,” Arethin warned.

“I am elf-blooded. I shall be fine.”

“Oh. Then, very well, if you wish.” she paused. “Although I do want to know more about why you know about eluvians."

Morrigan inclined her head. “Of course. Simply inform me when we shall be leaving.”

“Of course.” 

Arethin sighed and rubbed her face. She was exhausted, but they couldn't leave yet. They had to finalize things with Giuseppina first.

Giuseppina immediately drew up some writs about the Dales to give to Arethin. Giuseppina actually consulted some older maps of Orlais and the former borders of the Dales, to work out what lands in particular to return. 

“Many of my people will dislike this,” Giuseppina warned. “I fear you will have much trouble from those too stubborn to obey. I will do my best to alleviate this, Herald.”

“Thank you, Empress,” Arethin said. 

“My Lady, anything I could do would not be enough,” Giuseppina said, her tone very serious. 

“Thank you again. This will mean...a very great deal to my people.”

“I thought it would. I am sorry that I cannot remove the nobles from Halam'shiral at once—it will take some time.”

“I understand,” Arethin said. “If it would help, we could wait to send our own people in--”

“Give us a month,” she decided. “Then you may come in and do as you please. Otherwise it may become rather crowded.”

“Absolutely. Thank you again, Empress. We will be holding you to this agreement, of course.”

“Of course.” 

At last, they left for the eluvian, all utterly exhausted. At the gates, Morrigan and two others met them.

In Morrigan's company were a young boy and a tall, thin elvhen woman in armor.

“Surana!” Leliana exclaimed. 

“Hey, Leliana,” Surana said, her tone slightly cold. She turned to Arethin, ignoring Leliana completely. “I heard you got the Empress to give the Dales back to you. Neat trick.”

“Thank you,” Arethin said. “You wish to come with us as well?”

Surana nodded. “I do,” she said. “Might be able to help you with the Warden problem also.”

“Yes, you very well might.” Arethin turned her attention to the third member of Morrigan and Surana's party. He was a small boy, with dark hair and large yellow eyes. “And who is this?” she asked, gentling her voice.

“Our son, Kieran,” Morrigan said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I am very pleased to meet you,” Arethin said with a smile. 

Kieran only nodded, his eyes very wide. “You have old friends, like you have old blood,” he said, very seriously. “My mothers have old blood. But you have friends, too.”

Arethin blinked. 

“I have all sorts of friends,” she said. 

He nodded again. “I know.”

“And how is that?”

“I know things.”

Arethin glanced at Kieran's mothers, eyebrows raised.

“The circumstances of Kieran's birth were unique,” Morrigan said, holding him closer to her. “He knows many things that are...odd.”

“I see,” Arethin nodded. “Well—come along. The eluvian is nearby.” the group left for the closest eluvian, little conversation occurring among them. 

Arethin and Cassandra would glance at each other every once in a while, then quickly look away again, suddenly uncertain of things.

They were all exhausted, except for Kieran and Surana, who chatted with each other rather happily. Briala had an air of grim satisfaction about her, but she did not comment on the night's events.

When they returned to Skyhold, only a few were awake to greet them. 

“The conquering heroes,” Dorian was immediately there to greet Vivienne. “I see by all the blood things went well?” 

“It was marvelous, darling, you would have loved it,” Vivienne assured him, and the pair of them went off to chat. 

Arethin sighed. “I'm going to bed,” she said. “No one bother me.”

“Arethin--” Cassandra started.

“What?” 

“I--” Cassandra stopped and shook her head. “Can we talk? After...?”

Arethin's expression softened. “Alright. We'll talk.” then she retreated to her bedroom and didn't come out for the rest of the day.


	23. I Shall Not Fear The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> arethin and cass share some quality time

“You are becoming better at dreamwalking.”

She glanced up, and spotted Solas, and in the same instant realized she was in a dream. No blood or dead bodies this time, which was a mercy.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop.”

“There is nothing to apologize for. You entered the larger Fade, and I realized you were here.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I might not have noticed otherwise.”

“Your mind is calmer than it once was,” he said. “You would have realized at some point.”

Arethin sighed, and sat upon a couch that materialized for her. “How have things been going here?”

“Fairly quiet.” their surroundings... _blushed_ for a moment, everything going ruby red and smelling of roses, before it returned to normal.

Arethin chuckled in spite of herself. “You and Bull are keeping busy, I presume.”

“It has only been a night.”

“Very busy, then.”

“And what of you?”

“Did you ask any of the others?”

“Apparently you orchestrated a new Empress, and managed to coerce that Empress into returning the lands of the Dales to your people. Impressive. I wished to hear from you.”

“Well...Giuseppina did do that,” she said, and trees sprung up around her. What she imagined the Dales must have been like. “But I'm worried.”

“Why?”

An image of Giuseppina appeared, smiling, and Arethin's memory of her speech played in the air.

Solas nodded. “Ah. You fear a fanatic.”

Arethin nodded.

“A wise fear—however, she is on our side for now. I would simply keep an eye on her, and devote more time to more immediate problems.”

“Yes, alright,” Arethin said. “Elthina is taken care of, after all, and she returned the Dales to us...”

Solas smiled. “A victory worth treasuring, I am certain.”

“You don't disapprove?”

“No. Never that.”

Arethin smiled at him, then sighed. “But the Viddasala and Corypheus are both still problems.”

Solas inclined his head. “They will continue to pose problems until they are dealt with.”

“I wasn't exactly expecting them to stop on their own,” Arethin said, her voice dry. Her shoulder slumped. “Mythal's mercy, it seems I solve one problem, and I come up with ten more...”

“That is the way of things, I've found.”

“I need to talk to Cassandra when I wake up,” the surroundings blushed again, this time a much deeper red.

Solas smiled. “I see. Well, I shall not keep Cassandra waiting.”

“Oh, go continue on with Bull,” Arethin waved at him.

He chuckled, and vanished. Soon the Fade swept her away, and she found herself awakening in her bed. She shook her head to clear it of dreams, and went in search of Cassandra. She located her in her usual spot above the forge, staring down hard at a report she was trying to write.

“Cassandra?”

Cassandra looked up, and immediately straightened. “Lavellan,” she said. 

Arethin sighed. “There's no need for that,” she said. “Come on. We need to talk.” they went upstairs to Arethin's chambers.

Cassandra stood, uncertain and fidgeting. Arethin sat down on the bed. For a long moment they stood in silence.

“I really, really was not expecting that kiss.” Arethin said at last.

“I am—I am sorry,” Cassandra said. “I didn't mean--”

“No, no, don't--” Arethin fumbled with her words. “I don't—I didn't mind--”

“It was presumptuous, and forward, and I--”

“It's fine, I—I really--”

“I'd understand if you--”

“I mean I--”

They both took a deep breath and looked at each other.

“Well,” Cassandra sighed. “We are in, perhaps, not the most comfortable of situations.”

Arethin was startled into a smile. “No. I suppose not.” they were quiet again. “Why did you do it?” she asked. 

“What?”

“Why did you kiss me?”

“You—because you are--” Cassandra went very, very red. “You are—admirable,” she said. “And—strong. And wise—and I have—wanted to,” her last words were almost a whisper.

Arethin stared at her.

Cassandra looked away. “I am sorry,” she said again. “This was not a good idea. We need not speak of it--”

“No,” Arethin said. “No—I just—I didn't know you felt that way about me.”

“It is foolish, I know,” Cassandra said. 

Arethin winced. “I see.”

“How could you want me?” Cassandra burst out. “After everything—I know you would never--”

“I never said that,” Arethin said. “I thought you meant—I thought you meant it foolish to—to feel that way about...”

Cassandra blinked at her. “Why?”

“I'm a mage,” she said. “An elf. I didn't know you even liked other women--”

“No, no,” Cassandra shook her head. She sighed and scowled in frustration. “It is—I am not—it is only—I know you would never feel the same way,” she said finally. 

“I--” Arethin went red. “I mean—I just...I haven't had the time,” her voice was almost pleading. “I never thought about it, not like that...”

To her horror, tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes, and she had no idea why. She wiped at her eyes, and Cassandra looked horrorstricken. 

“I liked the kiss,” Arethin admitted, and she sniffed.

“I—I am sorry,” Cassandra said. “What did I say--?”

“I don't _know_ ,” Arethin said miserably. 

Cassandra hesitated for a minute, then sat down beside her on the bed. “I am sorry,” she repeated.

“Stop saying sorry,” Arethin snapped. 

“Tell me—tell me what I said, what I did--?” 

“I haven't had anyone for years,” Arethin said. “I was busy--”

“But...you had a son...?”

“I don't know his father,” she said with a shrug. “It was at an Arlathvhen, years and years ago. I was only twenty.”

“And before--?”

“Lots of people, but no one serious,” she said. “And after Elladen was born, I was busy.”

“I didn't mean—to cause all this--”

Arethin shook her head. “And then, with the Breach, I hadn't thought...” she wiped her face again. “But I...I liked the kiss...” she murmured. 

“We—we need not speak of it anymore, if you do not wish it,” Cassandra said.

“No!” Arethin exclaimed. “No, I—I just—I'm not used to this.” she pressed her hand against her forehead. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm useless at this.”

“No, I—I shouldn't have--” Cassandra sighed. “Before you, I had never...well, I had never considered much of...anyone,” Cassandra admitted. 

“No?” Arethin looked at her. “But you're so...”

“What?”

“You're beautiful, and you're strong—anyone would love to--”

Cassandra blushed and shook her head. “Being a Seeker is all-consuming,” she said. “And who would I have been with? Leliana?” she snorted. “Leliana has her own love.”

“Truly?” Arethin was surprised.

“Yes, a dwarven woman that she met during the Blight,” Cassandra explained.

Arethin blinked. “She never mentioned.”

They sat in silence for another minute or two.

“What do you wish to do now?” Cassandra asked.

Arethin pulled Cassandra close, and pressed her lips to the other woman's. Cassandra let out a breath of surprise, then kissed back eagerly. 

The broke apart at last. 

“That's what,” Arethin said.

Cassandra smiled and rested her forehead against Arethin's. “That...was...nice,” she said. 

Arethin laughed, a little nervously. “It was?” she wrapped her arms around Cassandra. “Then—why don't we see...what else we can do?”

A long time later, they lay in Arethin's bed together. 

“I definitely didn't expect all that,” Arethin said, resting her head against Cassandra's chest.

“Nor did I,” Cassandra admitted with a slight chuckle. 

“I think it's a lot better than the other surprises we've run into though.”

“Most definitely.”


	24. The Endless Moment of the Guillotine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now the warden plot is getting some attention

It was the next day when Sera came seeking Arethin out, apparently quite interested in the most recent gossip she'd heard.

“Heard Cassandra went up to your room and didn't come out for hours,” Sera grinned.

“Sera...”

“Good on both of you!” Sera lightly punched her in the arm. “Maybe you'll both get that huge stick out of your arses.”

Arethin couldn't help a chuckle at that.

“Good on you, getting' all those nobles to do what you say, too,” Sera grinned.

“It was difficult,” Arethin admitted.

“Yeah, 'course it was,” Sera rolled her eyes. “'cept...” she frowned.

“What is it?”

“You gonna push all those people still livin' in the Dales out?” she demanded. “Just to make room for elfy elves?”

“No,” Arethin said. “No, I wouldn't.”

"Then what are you gonna do with all of them?”

“I'm not sure,” Arethin admitted. 

“Then why'd you even ask?”

“Because I wanted the lands back anyway.”

“Back,” Sera snorted. “You never had them.”

Arethin peered at her. “You believe in Andraste, don't you?”

"'Course.”

“Then you know the part in the Chant where Andraste gives the elves the Dales.”

Sera squirmed. “Well...” she said. “I dunno, I heard it...”

“There you are then. It's in the Chant, too.”

Sera sighed. “Fine,” she said. “But if you do it wrong, the Jennies'll be up you,” she said.

“I have no doubt.” a thought struck her, since Sera had been asking after her and Cassandra. “And what did _you_ do, while we were gone?” Arethin asked.

Sera suddenly blushed. 

Arethin laughed. “Did you and Dagna--?” Sera had a certain fascination for the Arcanist, and could frequently be spotted together. 

“We did lots of things!” Sera exclaimed, her blush not fading. “Like—um--we made cookies!”

“Is that _all_ you did?”

“Oh, shut up, you went and did Cassandra for hours,” Sera rolled her eyes.

“I did not!”

“Yeah, right,” Sera laughed. “No worries, it's goin' around. What with Bull and Baldy--” she stuck her tongue out. “Don't even know how that works.”

Arethin couldn't help a chuckle. “I suppose it's the...dire straits,” she said. “People get wound up.” 

Kitranna and Morrigan were both rather impressed by Skyhold, though Morrigan refused to admit it.

“C'mon,” Kitranna elbowed Morrigan as they and Kieran wandered the courtyard, examining the keep. “You think it's impressive.”

“It is a castle,” Morrigan folded her arms. “There are many castles.”

“ _We_ don't have a castle.”

“We do not _need_ a castle,” Morrigan said. “This is...ostentatious.”

“You like it,” Kitranna cajoled. 

“The garden is...pleasing to the eye,” Morrigan conceded. 

“There's lots of spirits around,” Kieran said, looking up at them. Kitranna ruffled his hair.

“I'm not surprised, little monster,” she said with a fond smile. “Place this old? It'd be weird if there weren't ghosts. Especially with all the freaks I hear are knocking around.” she looked at Morrigan. “You think these people can help with the fake Calling?” she asked.

Morrigan nodded. “At least we might be able to find information on the problem,” she said.

Kitranna sighed. “I suppose it's worth a try.”

Morrigan and Kitranna had been working for years to try and circumvent the Calling. Morrigan had a few methods to stave off the Blight, but there was nothing in Flemeth's grimoire that outlined a cure. They'd investigated the Deep Roads and asked Queen Aeducan about cures, thinking of Fiona's example, but nothing definitive was found.

Kitranna had started to hear the fake Calling a little over two years ago. She'd panicked at first, but when it didn't get worse, just steadily continued, she realized it probably wasn't the real thing. They had looked into that, too, but then the Breach had happened, and they needed to try and figure out how to dodge Templars and demons and everything else, and there was no time.

“C'mon,” Kitranna said. “Let's see what kind of kitchen this place has. They have to have enough food to feed a frickin' army.” 

“An army is housed here, my love,” Morrigan said, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, exactly. Bet they got enough weird shit to make all the weirdos happy.”

Kieran lit up, looking more like a child than he usually did. “Do you think they have cakes? Like in Halam'shiral?” 

“Could be, monster,” Kitranna said, picking him up and putting him on her shoulders. “Let's go see, shall we?”

Morrigan smiled, and took Kitranna's hand. “I suppose there is no harm in it,” she said, and the three of them began to make the trek to the kitchens.

The Warden-Commander and Morrigan joined the Alliance's council meetings, if only to weigh in on the issue of Wardens. The Warden issue, however, was only one of several that they faced.

Now Empress, Giuseppina had granted the Plains, the Emerald Graves, Halam'shiral and Emprise du Lion for Alliance use. As a matter of fact, she had granted the whole area of the Dales, historical borders and all, to the Alliance, officially handing it over to Dalish hands. 

No one except for the Dalish was very happy about this.

“There are quite a few rumors that the entire civil war was orchestrated by the Alliance,” Josephine said. “In order to grant the Dalish their homeland. I suspect your borders will have many threatening them.”

Arethin sighed and sat heavily in her chair. “Very likely,” she said. “Do you think we could start moving into places we already have a presence in? The Alliance already has control of Suledin Keep and most of Emprise du Lion--”

"We also have that outpost in the Plains,” Ambassador Yara pointed out.

Leliana nodded. “I believe Emprise du Lion would be the best place to begin sending people.”

“Not civilians, surely,” Ambassador Vhelan said. “The red lyrium infection--”

“Well, we should deal with that,” Arethin pointed out. “Either way, civilians shouldn't be there and if we establish a firmer presence it should keep people out. We'd also be able to help refugees while we try to solve the red lyrium problem.”

“Speaking of which, how are we going to solve it?” Fiona asked, her lips pursed. “There's still no real solution aside from quarantine--”

“A problem for another time,” Arethin said. “If we quarantine it first, we can deal with it later. Corypheus remains the biggest problem, as well as how we deal with this without inciting another war.”

“I agree that we should start with the Emprise,” Josephine said. “And perhaps your people should merely establish a presence in your territory—anywhere that is already not very well settled.”

“From what I recall, the Graves are sparsely populated,” Vivienne said, pursing her lips and looking down at the map. “The Plains have better farmland, so that is where the majority of the population will be.”

“Many refugees from the war fled to the Graves,” Cassandra said. “They will need a place to go.”

Arethin rubbed her forehead. “Well, where do we send them?” she asked. “We can't just move everyone when they already don't have places to live.”

“You could scout the area first,” Bann Teagan suggested. “Ferelden had a similar problem when we threw the Orlesians out. Lots of civilians had settled in Ferelden lands—I think if you make some kind of alliance or friendship with them, that would help also.”

“In that case, you should visit the Graves,” Josephine said. “Perhaps speak to one of the leaders of the refugees. There are also many deserters from Dubois' army that settled there, and should be taken care of.”

“Alliance forces can do that,” Arethin said. “Very well—we'll start by quarantining the Emprise, and look into less populated areas. Anywhere with rifts, I'll take a look at. Now—about the Warden problem...?” she looked at Surana.

Surana nodded. “It's a fake Calling,” she said. “That's where they're all going.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because it doesn't get worse as time goes on,” Surana explained. “Morrigan and I were trying to find a way to fix it anyway—but it just wasn't getting worse. It stays the same level for way too long.”

“Wouldn't the other Wardens have noticed?”

“Most of them wouldn't have questioned it,” Surana said with a shrug. “Plenty of the Orlesians are idiots.”

They all stared at her, and she sighed.

“And, if they _had_ gone to investigate, there's a good chance they'd've run into the darkspawn bastard anyway, and just ended up in the same fix regardless.'

“The Wardens do not have the same resources and information we do,” Morrigan said. “More than likely they would have gone directly to the source.”

“Corypheus,” Arethin muttered.

“Prescisely.”

“And you did not? Why?” Arethin asked.

“No. I have quite a number of unique spells that let me...search out where the Calling is coming from. We have been researching it for some time.”

Surana nodded. “I'm also the only Warden who's killed an Archdemon and lived. I think that might make a difference, but I'm not sure why.”

Hawke, who had her own information on the Wardens, frowned.

“There have been...Wardens, doing something in the Western Approach.” she said.

“Doing what?”

“Don't know, not exactly,” Hawke admitted.

“Hawke,” Surana drawled, looking at Hawke with more intent “You're the one who looked after my Wardens, right?”

“Looked after--?” Hawke blinked. “You're— _that_ Surana?”

“I am.” 

“Oh--” Hawke faltered. “I'm sorry—I don't know where Velanna or Sigrun or--”

“Not to worry. I know, and I know you helped them. Don't know what happened to Anders, exactly, but you helped them.”

Hawke nodded stiffly. “I tried.”

Surana folded her arms, examining Hawke with a critical eye. “So, you have some information that might be helpful?”

“I do.”

“Well, spit it out.”

“In the Approach, there's something...strange, going on,” Hawke said.

“Strange?” Arethin raised her eyebrows. “Strange how?”

“The Venatori are interested,” Hawke explained. “They're doing some magic, and it looks like they've moved into a bunch of Warden outposts out there.”

Surana sucked a breath in through her teeth. “That's bad,” she said. “There's a lot of ruins out there, and the Wardens are bound to have magical artifacts.”

“Exactly,” Hawke said. 

“We'll look into it,” Arethin said with a nod. “Thank you.”

The Approach was far beyond the range of most Dalish roving patterns, and sparsely populated as well. 

Arethin had brought Hawke, Sera, Dorian, and Iron Bull with her. Surana stayed behind, as they were worried about what effect the fake Calling might have. 

No one liked the desert. Privately, Arethin was quite interested, but the novelty soon wore off. None of them were used to it. Even Dorian and Bull, hailing from warmer lands, had difficulty with the dry heat and the cold nights. 

It took them several weeks to get to the Warden outpost that Hawke noted as being the largest problem. Griffin Wing Keep, a small fortress perched on the very edge of the Abyssal Rift. 

Alliance forces had approached, only to be driven off by people in Warden armor. This was quite a surprise, as they hadn't seen any Wardens apart from Surana (and Blackwall, sort of) for months now. 

They gingerly approached the keep, and when they found themselves not driven away, they continued on.

“This is weird, right?” Sera muttered as they got close and saw no signs of sentries or guards.

Arethin nodded. “It is,” she agreed. “Be careful.”

The gate was barred, but they scaled the walls with little problem. Inside was deathly quiet, and it seemed to be mostly deserted. 

They searched the place, and found that it was only the first floor that was deserted. Sneaking up a set of steps, the quiet gave way to voices and the sound of spellwork being done, and they all exchanged a concerned look. 

There was a courtyard on the third floor of the keep, open to the sky. This was where all the people were.

A crowd of people in Warden armor were gathered before a large dais, and the Veil felt strange, broken and thin. 

Quite apart from the Wardens was the crowd of strange spirits, some of Rage or Despair, but others less identifiable. 

No one noticed how close they were getting, the attentions of the Wardens and the spirits all riveted on one spectacle at the far end of the courtyard.

A man and a woman stood at the head of the courtyard, the woman in Warden armor like the others, but the man wearing Tevinter-style mage robes. 

The woman held a blade to her arm, and the man murmured instructions to her. She took a deep breath, then the Warden sliced her arm open, and blood pooled out. Sera clasped a hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp. 

The Veil ruptured, and something curious and full of energy clawed its way out of the Fade. A demon, some spirit whose nature was not quite clear, came to stand next to the Warden, who took several deep breaths and glanced at the Tevinter man. 

The man nodded, approving, and the woman sighed and relaxed. The man gestured, and the woman and the spirit joined the rest of the crowd. At last, the man noticed Arethin and her companions.

“Ah,” the man raised his eyebrows. “I see we have company.”

The entire crowd, almost a hundred bodies, turned as one to face them. Arethin and her companions all drew their weapons at once, but no one attacked.

“What are you doing?” Arethin asked, staring around at the Wardens.

“I'm helping them, obviously,” the Tevene said.

“How?” 

“Lady, you needn't get involved,” one of the Wardens said. A muscle ticced in his jaw. 

Arethin looked around. “Blood magic?” she raised her eyebrows. “I don't mind, but—the Veil's in shreds. Someone is doing something very wrong here.”

The man's eyes flicked to the mark on her hand. “I see the Mediator herself has come to grace us with her presence,” he said with an oily grin.

“I want to know what's going on.”

“The Wardens asked for my assistance, and I'm helping.”

Arethin looked at the Wardens, none of whom spoke. “What is it you needed?” she asked. “We could help--”

"Not with this,” the man's oily smile grew wider.

“Who are you?” Dorian demanded. 

“Pavus,” the man's smile turned to a grimace of disgust as he looked at Dorian. “I'd heard you'd taken up with these southerners. All the knife-ears and these fools who don't know one spell from another.”

Dorian frowned, then sudden recognition struck him. “Erimond,” he groaned. “I see you've decided to start spreading failure around. Lucky for us you're on the enemy side, isn't it?”

Erimond scowled. He pointed at them, and the Wardens raised their weapons.

They tried to deter the ensuing fight, but the Wardens could not be reasoned with. When it was over, Erimond was gone, and they could not find him.

“Damn,” Arethin muttered. “What are we to do now?”

“We need to find the rest of the Wardens,” Iron Bull said.

“How?”

Bull shrugged, and they all looked at Hawke. 

“I—I don't know,” she said. “This was all I had.”

Arethin snorted. “Very well,” she said. “The Alliance will take the Keep—perhaps they will return and we can intercept them.”

“It'd be a good place to keep an eye on Venatori, also,” Dorian pointed out.

Arethin nodded. There were several places in the desert where Venatori activity had increased, and it would be good for them to know why.

“You knew who that man was,” Arethin said. 

“Livius Erimond,” Dorian said with a grimace. “A truly revolting little man who's quite bad at—well, everything, really, barring blood magic. It isn't a surprise he'd turn to the Venatori.”

When they returned to Skyhold, they met with Morrigan and Surana.

“This is...weird,” Surana said. “Knew a lot of Wardens were dead stupid, but that just doesn't make any sense.”

“How so?” Arethin asked.

“Well, if there's not a Blight, they shouldn't all be together,” she explained. “And I really don't see why they wouldn't come and try to find me and my Wardens...unless...”

“Unless they did not want you there for some reason,” Morrigan said.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“And why wouldn't they want you there?” Arethin asked. 

“All kinds of reasons,” Surana let out a breath and leaned back in her chair. “If they're Orlesian, they probably hate me from that mess a few years back. I probably hate them because they're idiots who don't know the right way to hold a sword.” she wrinkled her nose. “Anders Wardens tend to have more sense, though, so I don't know what the problem is there.”

“Or,” Morrigan posited. “They are being influenced by the being producing the false Calling.”

Surana sighed. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Or that.” 

“Could that happen?” Arethin looked from one of them to the other.

“Could do—anything that can influence the Taint can influence Wardens. Something smart enough to figure that out could, in theory, try to manipulate Wardens that way.”

“And something like that would also be intelligence enough to realize who it was who slew the last Archdemon,” Morrigan said.

Arethin sighed. “I see.”

“I suppose we will have to find a solution to these Wardens,” Cassandra said. “They could pose a serious problem.”

“We need to find them first,” Arethin said. “They left the Approach and haven't been back since we were there.”

“We might be able to find the Wardens, but it will take time,” Morrigan said.

“Do it,” Arethin said. 

While they searched for the Wardens, Arethin went to the Emerald Graves to try and seal the rifts and gain the goodwill of the locals. The only way to make Giuseppina's gifting the Dalish the Dales not a disaster was to do that. 

The Emerald Graves were densely forested, very green, full of ruins that claimed to be haunted. They were not really haunted. Most of the ruins were simply full of old magic that no one knew how to handle anymore.

The forests were the true marvel of the area. Dense and green, with trees full of magic and hundreds of years old, some still dating back to the original Dalish control. There were massive trees that marked graves, some which had the air of vhenadahls or bore ironbark. 

It was very sparsely populated, mostly known as a location for rich nobles to have summer homes. Even the Orlesians didn't like how the place felt—as if they knew they trespassed. 

A Dalish Clan was far to the north, investigating an ancient tomb, but that was the only Alliance presence. The rest was occupied by some camps of refugees and the army deserters that called themselves the Freemen of the Dales.

Arethin went to speak to the refugees first.

They were lead by a man named Fairbanks. Fairbanks was a tall man, with brown hair and a proud bearing. 

He looked down at her when they met, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“So, he said. “You're the great Mediator that has saved the world.”

“That's what people have said,” Arethin said with a shrug. 

Fairbanks looked at her companions. Arethin had brought Cassandra, Solas, and Sera with her. 

“Do you mean to bring the Dalish here?” he asked, staring hard at her elvhen friends.

“You know we lived here before you did,” Arethin pointed out. “And the Empress gave the lands back to the Dalish.”

“Yes, we heard of the new Empress' decree,” Fairbanks said. “But how am I supposed to move all these refugees?”

“The Alliance can help,” Arethin said. 

“Like they've helped so far, throwing these people out of the only sanctuary they've had during the war?”

“You mean the war we helped finish?”

Fairbanks glared at her. “That's not the way I hear it. I heard that your people invaded Halam'shiral and set up your own puppet on the throne.”

Arethin rubbed her forehead. “Fairbanks,” she said. “We want to help the refugees, and we know there's rifts in the area. There might be other magical problems that only we are equipped to take care of, like in the Emprise.”

Fairbanks' expression turned uncertain. “I heard about the Emprise,” he said. “That red lyrium...and you took care of it?”

“We don't know how to, not yet,” she admitted. “But we're keeping people away from it. That's one reason we're here—if the Venatori or the Red Templars have been sniffing around, we're the people best suited to help.”

He gave her a long, measured look. “Most of the refugees here aren't native,” he admitted. “Many of them came from the Plains, or further north, nearer to Val Royeaux.'

“Where the fighting was worst,” Arethin said with a nod.

Sera groaned and rolled her eyes, having grown impatient with the whole affair. “Look,” she said. 'I'm not bloody Dalish or elfy or whatever— _I_ don't want to live in this stupid forest. But if these people didn't live here anyway, and Lavellan says she can help, let her help! She fixed your stupid Empress problem—got rid of all those bastards who liked shovin' each other around. There's rifts and demons she can fix, and them Alliance people aren't half bad, alright?”

Fairbanks blinked at her. 

"We...do have a problem with rifts,” he said. “There's several to the north. No one can go near them--”

“No, they wouldn't be able to,” Arethin said. “Have you kept people away?'

He nodded. “After the first few attacks, we just stayed as far away as we could.”

“Very good. I will go and close them, and when I return, we can speak further. Does that suit you?”

Fairbanks gave her a measuring look, then nodded again. “Very well,” he said.

He marked where the rifts were, and they went about closing them. These rifts had been left to grow, and demons crowded the areas around them. 

“These people can't get anywhere with all the friggin' demons all over,” Sera said, yanking her arrow from the body of a demon that she had felled.

Arethin shook out her aching hand. The air still lingered with the smell of vanilla. She nodded. “I noticed,” she said. “Hopefully they will have an easier time now that the rifts are gone.”

“You're not gonna shove 'em out, right? Just 'cos this country is all elfy now or whatever?” Sera slung her bow over her shoulder and looked at Arethin with narrowed eyes.

Arethin shook her head. “No.” 

“I wonder how this was organized the first time?” Cassandra asked. “People must have been living here when Shartan's people first came.”

“It's possible it was underpopulated,” Solas said. “Orlais has only been what one might consider civilized for several hundred years. Val Royeaux was nothing but thatched huts and mud.”

“When?”

“Some hundred years ago, before the founding of the Dales, but after the invasion of Arlathan,” he explained. “Accurate measurements of time are difficult in the Fade, however.”

Sera laughed unexpectedly. “All those prissy nobles used to live just like normal people, but muddier?”

“Indeed they did.” 

She snickered. “Just goes to show—no one's as bloody great as they say they are.”

“The Orlesian nobility? Certainly.”

“What does the Fade say about the Graves?” Arethin asked. “Have you been here before?”

“My resting place was far to the north, in the mountains,” Solas said. “I have not had an opportunity to truly explore the Dales. And existing knowledge on the subject is...biased.”

They went north, to meet up with the Dalish archaeology team that was exploring one of the ruins. They were concerned that the Venatori might come by—the Venatori had begun expressing an unusual interest in elvhen artifacts, even recent ones like the Dalish relics. 

Arethin would send a contingent of soldiers to help guard the site. If nothing else, there needed to be more forces to help guard the refugees as well. 

They returned to Fairbanks. 

“I suppose our Empress' faith in you was not necessarily misplaced,” he told her. 

“No. Perhaps not.”

He sighed. “I suppose we do owe you for removing the demons,” he admitted. “But we cannot simply leave. Many of the people here have a life here, and they can't uproot that.”

Arethin nodded. “My people have been nomadic for centuries,” she said. “Many of them would not want to put down roots, even here. Both of our people simply want to be able to live their lives in peace.”

He regarded her, expression pensive.

“You aren't quite how I expected you,” he said.

“I daresay not. I am not how many people expect me,” she said with a shrug. “And what did you expect?”

“Truly? The Dalish here are aggressive and tricky,” he said with a sniff. “When we approach them, they tell us to leave. And mages are—well, _mages_ ,” he shivered. “And when we heard some of the rumors—my lady, there was talk you'd—I don't know, that you'd lifted a mountain over your head and was the Maker's new wife.”

Arethin snorted and Cassandra blinked, flushing red.

“I see,” she said. 

“So I didn't really know what to think,” he said.

“Well. The Dalish only want to be left in peace. Many of us have suffered ills at the hands of humans and non-Dalish.”

“But the Dalish attack humans--” Fairbanks furrowed his brows, and Arethin cocked her eyebrow.

“So it was the Dalish who made these people refugees?”

“No, but they have hardly been welcoming.”

“Let me tell you a tale, Fairbanks,” Arethin said, a thought coming to her. She steeled herself. “My own son was killed by Templars. Before the war.”

He blinked at her. “My lady, I--”

“And so, my Clan is not overly friendly to humans in armor. Does this make sense?”

“Well—yes,” he admitted. “I see why that would be.”

“Then you see that other Clans might feel similarly.” she heaved a sigh. “I will speak with any of the Dalish in the area, if you promise not to attack them, and speak with your own people. Can we agree on that?”

“I...see your point,” he rubbed his head. “Well, in any case, all you mages and elves up in the alliance have done us a fair sight better than the army or the Chantry, so maybe those rumors had some bit of truth to them.”

“A very small bit,” she said. “Do you agree?”

“I shall...do what I can.”


	25. The Company Of Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cullen appears in this one. cassandra is not pleased

“You spoke to that man about your son...easier, now,” Cassandra said as they traveled away from the Graves.

“Did I?” Arethin hummed to herself. “I suppose.” the thought of Elladen stung...less, now. The wound was less raw. She shivered. “His name was Elladen,” she said suddenly, realizing she had never told Cassandra anything about him. “Elladen Kelkim Lavellan. Kelkim was Deshanna's—my Keeper's--grandfather's name.” 

Cassandra nodded. “Why was he named after Deshanna's grandfather?” she asked. “Not yours?”

She shrugged. “We already have a Honati and a Lanwen,” she said. “And two Dynmosis already. We were running out of fathers and grandfathers to name him after,” she laughed. “He was a mage, like me. He wasn't old enough to figure out what he wanted to do with it, yet, though.”

“Did he look like you?”

Arethin considered that. “Maybe he was lighter,” she said. “His sire was pale, like you. At least, I'm pretty sure he was.” she fingered the bridge of her nose. “He got my nose,” she said. “And it was plenty big without having been broken.”

“I like your nose,” Cassandra protested. “There is nothing wrong with a large nose.”

Arethin chuckled. “I suppose not.” in spite of herself, she flushed at the compliment. 

When they returned to Skyhold, there was a message for Cassandra.

“Do you remember the group of Templars, who came to Haven?” Cassandra asked, frowning down at the letter she had recieved.

Arethin's face darkened. “I do,” she said. “What about them?” 

Cassandra sighed, and held out the missive she had gotten. “They have requested to re-join the Chantry.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

She shook her head. “I do not know. They are housed in Caer Oswin, and I...I am uncertain what to do. Perhaps the remnants of the Seekers are with them as well. And—we do not have a Divine. I do not know what organization they would be joining, or who they would we swearing their loyalty to.” 

Arethin looked at her. “Do you wish to speak to them?"

Cassandra shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I am simply...unsure what I would do with them.”

“Charge them with crimes?”

“Arethin...”

“Or don't, it isn't my business.” Arethin folded her arms. “Is it?”

“I—perhaps some are worth saving, like Ser Barris, or Serah Evangeline.” Cassandra looked up at her, in her eyes a painful hope. 

Arethin's chest constricted. “They shall not come here,” she said. “I won't allow it.”

“I know.” Cassandra rubbed her forehead. “I will go,” she said. “I must tie off this bleeding stump, if nothing else.”

Arethin smiled, though her smile held little humor. “A good metaphor. Do you want me to come with you?”

“I doubt you would want to see them.” 

“What if they're hostile, like the red ones?” Arethin's stomach clenched. “What if it's a trap, and they hurt you?”

“Then it would be even more dangerous for a mage to come. No, I will not go alone, and I would not ask you to confront them, my love. You do not need to.”

Arethin smiled, and touched Cassandra's cheek. “Good luck,” she said. “You will sorely need it. Come back swiftly.”

“I will do my best,” Cassandra said, covering Arethin's hand with her own.

Caer Oswin was a small keep, occupied by one pious and quiet noble. A servant greeted Cassandra at the door. 

“I am here to see the Templars,” Cassandra said.

“Of course.” 

She met Commander Cullen in the great hall. The great hall was not nearly so grand as the halls she had been in previously, small and dark, the air smoky and almost gray with haze. 

“Seeker Pentaghast,” Cullen said with a half-smile. He looked as ill as he had in Haven, the distinctive illness of lyrium withdrawal. Greasy skin and shaking hands, all compounded by viciously bloodshot eyes. 

“Commander Cullen,” she said. 

“I'm glad you accepted my invitation.”

“I have only come to speak,” she said. 

He sighed, eyes cast down. A tremor ran through him. “The Alliance will not take us.”

“I am afraid not.”

“I was worried about this.” He clenched his jaw. “Why not?” he asked. “You know what we are capable of--”

“You must understand that to accept Templars into the Alliance would be to split it in two,” Cassandra said. “Lady Lavellan would never accept it, to say nothing of any of the others who are not with the Chantry--” she shook her head. “The Dalish and dwarven powers would reject you entirely.” 

“And if you were to accept us back into the Chantry...?” he glanced up at her, a spark of slight hope in his eyes. 

“Then Lady Lavellan would be...displeased. It would seriously damage the Alliance, and we cannot afford damage at this time.” she drummed her fingers on the table. “If Lady Lavellan did not take issue, then another of our alliances would.”

The Alliance was still fragile, like a newly grown flower. The first wrong move could crush it. She felt woefully out of her element, and could not clearly see what needed to be done.

Her world was a balancing act, and she was not used to it. 

“ _Why_?” Cullen asked. “Why would the Templars be so hated?”

Cassandra looked at him. 

“Yes—I understand the contention between the Circle mages and the Templars,” Cullen sighed. “I have...come to realize more about how the mages felt.”

Cassandra nodded. “I know. It is a strange thing to be a witness to such horrors for so long, but never truly realize them.”

He blinked at her. “But everyone else? Ferelden, the dwarves--?”

“Many of the Alliance are mages, Circle and not,” Cassandra explained. “It would feel an aggressive move.”

“Protection is aggressive?” Cullen shook his head. “Seeker, we are no longer under Lambert's rule. We are here to help.”

“The mages, the Dalish and the rebel mages in particular, will never see it that way,” she said.

“But—Seeker Pentaghast, surely we can assist in some way,” Cullen insisted. 

“Perhaps,” Cassandra said. “But even those within the Chantry remember that it was the Templars who betrayed us, who, with the Lord Seeker, conspired to put their own Divine on the Sunburst Throne.” she leaned forward. “And you did not stop him. Even in Kirkwall, you aided Meredith, and did not stop her, either.”

“Meredith was—Kirkwall was a disaster,” Cullen said. “Even if I were to leave her, where would I go? You and your allies were not exactly forthcoming.”

Cassandra nodded, her eyes downcast. “I know. Even now, Kirkwall hostile to anyone and everyone. We would have very likely not risked a Kirkwall Templar coming to us. That was unfair, I will grant you that.”

“Exactly,” Cullen nodded. “And with the siege of Val Royeaux—I left Lambert, took any loyal Templars I could find, and we left.”

“I know,” she agreed. “But you must understand that this looks...troubling. You did not leave when Meredith and Elthina took Kirkwall, did not report their law-breaking to the Divine, or any of her allies. You did not even leave the Templars until the Lord Seeker broke down the gates of Val Royeaux. Regardless of what is fair, there are many in the Alliance who will not be sympathetic to that.”

Cullen winced at her quick summation.

She sighed. “And even so, I fear the mages will never accept you.”

“Not even the loyal mages? Surely Madame de Fer and those allied to the Inquisition would be pleased to see us.”

“Perhaps,” Cassandra admitted, although privately she was not certain what Vivienne would think. The woman had defended Val Royeaux from incursion, and would doubtless not appreciate hearing of Cullen's actions. Her high standards extended to everyone, mages and Templars alike. “But not the Grand Enchanter, and not the Dalish, and thus not the dwarves. The loyal mages and the Chantry would be outnumbered.”

He shook his head. “The Dalish and the rebels are dangerous,” he said. “They both use magic too freely.”

“That is possible," Cassandra cut him off. “But if the Dalish wish to represent themselves with mages, that is--” she blinked as she next spoke. “It can no longer be any concern of ours. The Dalish and other elves have made their grievances with the Chantry very clear.”

“What do you mean?” Cullen asked, raising his eyebrows.

“We hunted their children, Commander,” Cassandra said. In a flash, she remembered Arethin's utter rage upon seeing the Templars, the way Vivienne had said that the story of Arethin's son was only one of many. “Lady Lavellan, and many others of her people, have personal reasons for not wishing our interference. And since they have been returned the lands of the Dales, they are their own country once again.” 

Cullen shook his head. “Very well. I suppose it does make sense not to repeat the mistakes of the past. But what of the other mages?”

Cassandra grimaced. “They all have their own reasons for despising Templars. Even Madame de Fer has spoken of things—things that should never have been done. You would not be trusted, not unless you were no longer Templars.”

“And what of the dangers of magic? What about abominations?” Cullen demanded. “Surely abominations are an inevitability.”

“There...have been no possessions,” she said, only just realizing it herself. “None.”

Cullen snorted. “They are hiding them--”

“Hiding possessions. From a Seeker.” Cassandra stared at him, and he quailed. 

“I meant no disrespect, of course...mages lie, Seeker, you know that as well as anyone.” 

“As do Templars.” she steepled her fingers. “Commander. I am trying to decide what to do. You disparage the Chantry's allies, something that does not endear me to you. It was your people who tried to kill Justinia, or allowed Lambert to do so.”

“I did not,” Cullen said, outraged.

“Ser Barris, our commander, was a Templar, and he refused to go along with Lambert's orders. You and your people have not.”

“You need us,” Cullen insisted. “Even if there have been no problems, there will be some in the future.”

“We have managed so far,” Cassandra said. “If there is to be a Templar Order, it must be very different. I do not know that you are the change that is needed.” 

Cullen shook his head. “I have heard many of the complaints of mages,” he said. “It does not matter—the rulings were harsh, but they kept people safe. Even Knight-Commander Meredith, for all her madness, understood that.”

Cassandra stared at him, appalled.

“That woman broke laws,” she snapped. “Chantry laws. She and Elthina made mages Tranquil, killed them, with no provocation—and Kirkwall was full of blood mages and abominations. I will not hear such a woman spoken of as if she did anything but cause grief to the Chantry and the people.”

Cullen raised his hands. “Yes, changes must be made, of course,” he said. “We cannot have a repeat of the rebellion. But magic is too dangerous to simply—let mages do as they will! Is the Breach not an example of that very thing?”

“And it was magic that closed the Breach,” Cassandra snapped. “Seekers and Templars only suppress magic—we cannot affect the Veil. Only a mage can.” 

“Even so—the problems we are having are all the result of magic,” Cullen insisted. 

“And ignore the horrors that the Chantry did in the name of protection?” Cassandra demanded. “The Chantry hurt people, we tore apart the _world_ —have you listened to what a mage has to say about the Circle? It was the previous Lady Seeker who drove the Wardens out of Ferelden—she blackmailed King Alistair to do it! Half of what has happened is _our own_ doing.”

“Seeker Cassandra, we have regrets, of course,” Cullen said. “But the sorrow of a mage is nothing when weighed against the sorrow magic can cause. I have seen it myself—mages are protected, sheltered, educated, and all we ask is that they not harm others, but they cannot abide even that.”

Rage rose in Cassandra's throat. “In my time in the Inquisition, I have met people whose children were killed by Templars,” she snapped. “Their children, brothers, sisters, wives, husbands—killed, or made Tranquil, or taken away and never allowed to see their families again.” there was a lump in her throat, but her voice was steady as she continued. “Madame de Fer told me of families torn apart. Husbands and wives separated. Young people cut down for failing their Harrowing—people made Tranquil for a mistake. A dangerous mistake, but no less tragic. Grand Enchanter Fiona speaks of—abuses of power. Tranquilities and deaths for imagined offenses. Of always being watched, of the feeling of not a sanctuary, but a prison.”

Cullen's face sank with each word, but Cassandra plowed on.

“Cole—a—former member of the White Spire—speaks of more death, more pointless misery,” she said. “Tragedy and horror. All of this, so we could be safe. And then we lied about it, over and over and over again. We refused to speak of these things, as if they did not exist.”

She looked at him, her expression pleading.

Please. Let them be lying. Let them all be wrong. 

It would be so much easier. We are here to make the world safe. This is the will of the Maker. 

A golden purpose, and a clear, shining bright line. 

“They--” he stammered. “Well—mages exaggerate,” he said. “They are...we have all done things we regret,” 

He looked at anything but her, and his expression was of a man walking to the gallows. He hunched over, the guilt so thick she could almost taste it. 

She was unmoved. She had to be unmoved. “I want you to give me an answer, Commander. How can you hear of these things, and still be convinced that the way we have been acting should not be changed?” 

“We do what we must for the sake of the people,” Cullen said. “These laws keep them safe, in spite of themselves. And mages cannot be treated like--” he caught himself.

“Like what?”

“Mages cannot be treated like people.”

She got to her feet. She could taste Arethin's kiss on her lips, the way she laughed, the way she danced. 

Cassandra looked down at Cullen. 

Her stomach twisted in disgust.

_This_ was what she had so vaunted as protectors?

She had always known Templars in her mind. Shining guardians, unspoiled, incorruptible—true Templars and true Seekers were nothing like their pale imitations. They wore the Chant like armor, the light of the Maker on earth. 

If their words were not divine, they were the second closest thing. 

On her lips was Arethin's kiss. 

She shook her head, her heart broken. 

“Get out of my sight,” she said. Cullen looked up, opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Take yourself and your Templars from Ferelden—go—anywhere. Never return. If we are to be protected by magic, it will not be at your hands.”

“Seeker--”

“ _Go_ ,” she snarled. 

“But--”

“Do not make me repeat myself, Commander.”

Cullen scurried out of the room, and the burning in Cassandra's throat got worse.

She'd known. She had known what she was in for. It was just...hard. 

She returned to Skyhold, and immediately sought out Arethin.

“Arethin?” Cassandra called, coming up the steps to Arethin's loft.

“Are you back already?” 

“Evidently.”

Arethin laughed. “Well—come upstairs!” 

Cassandra walked up the stairs, her feet leaden. Arethin turned to see her with a smile, but that fell as soon as she caught sigh of Cassandra's face. “What's wrong?” she asked. 

Cassandra shook her head. “I'm sorry,” she said. 

“What for?”

“The Templars,” Cassandra leaned on the bannister, squeezed her eyes shut. 

“What happened?” Arethin's tone was cautious, and Cassandra felt a dam in her break. She began to weep, silently.

“I'm sorry,” she said again.

“Oh, Mythal's ass,” Arethin muttered and went to Cassandra's side. “What's wrong?”

“I believed you, but I—I didn't think--” she wrapped Arethin up in her arms. “I'm sorry. How can I be so wrong? Every choice I make—why is it _wrong_?”

Arethin stroked Cassandra's hair. “I don't know,” she said. 

“That—idiot man--” she choked. “Cullen.”

“What about him?”

“He could give me no answer. Not for _any_ of it. He gave the same—he spouted off about mages being dangerous, and he—but he could give me nothing. Nothing. He said they all had 'regrets!' As if—as if that means anything when he is doing nothing but—but hiding at Caer Oswin--”

“Listen to me,” Arethin said, pulling away and looking Cassandra in the face. “You're trying to change. That's good. You aren't like him.”

“But—but I believed--”

“We all believe things that are wrong. And you did hurt people. But you're trying to stop, you're trying to fix it. That's what matters.”

Cassandra let out a sob. “He was such a little man,” she said. “Pathetic. How did that happen? How did the Chantry become this?”

“My people would tell you that the Chantry has been like this for a long, long time,” Arethin said. “But we couldn't tell you why.” she sighed. “I don't know. You must ask someone else for an answer.”

“It will be different,” Cassandra said. “Something worthy. Something that it was supposed to be.”

“Maybe,” Arethin said. “Maybe.”

“You sound doubtful.”

“I am.”

Cassandra pressed her face to Arethin's shoulder. “I don't want to be here,” she said. “The world is coming apart. I did not want this.”

“What do you want?”

“Once, I wanted to create order,” she said. “I thought it was so simple. Stop Elthina Stop the Circles uprising. Stop Orlais fighting with itself. Not easy, but simple. And then the Breach, and you...” she pulled away, bloodshot eyes meeting Arethin's. “And now nothing is simple anymore. I want...”

Arethin looked at her, waiting.

“I want the Chantry to be what I dreamed of when I was young,” Cassandra confessed. “Can you imagine? A golden place, full of light and song, something to unite the world. A grand guardian. But I am here, and I have no more dreams.”

“I've heard that the dawn will come,” Arethin said softly. “In my dreams. Someone whispered it to me once.”

“What?” 

“Didn't you know? You don't have to listen to demons, but the words people speak in dreams can sometimes tell you things. And I know something better is coming. We will remake the world, Cassandra. We will make it better.”

“Can we?” Cassandra looked away. “I do not know anymore.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes it's better just to hope.” she leaned over and pressed her lips to Cassandra's. When they parted, she said “Come on. Enough of these thoughts. Sometimes it's no use dwelling.”


	26. Hard To Feel Much Fear Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dorian gets some attention this week !

The strangest of missives came. It was so peculiar that Leliana first passed the missive to Arethin.

It was from Tevinter. 

“Tevinter?” Arethin frowned and turned the letter over in her hands. 

“For Dorian, I believe,” Leliana said. 

“Then why did you give it to me, and not to him?” 

“I wanted to see what you thought.”

“I think he should see it,” she said, and as such she brought it to him.

“A letter from my family?” Dorian snorted. “Really, I'm quite busy as I am. I don't have time for their nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” Arethin asked. 

“Oh, it was—well, it seems much less important now,” Dorian said, his back stiff. 

“Why?” 

He sighed. “In quite a large number of ways, Tevinter is much more backwards than the south,” he said. 

“You needn't tell me that twice.”

Dorian waved a hand. “Quite apart from the slavery,” he explained. “They have—what I have learned are peculiar attitudes about those who enjoy the company of a same-gendered partner.”

Arethin blinked. “Why?”

“Among the nobility? Everything is about bloodlines,” he said with a shrug. “How can you have any kind of bloodline between two people who are quite unlikely to breed?”

“I see. And what does this have to do with your family?”

“Well, my lady, I quite enjoy the company of men,” Dorian said with a smirk. “And they had a great deal of issue with that.”

“I see,” Arethin nodded. Personally, she didn't really understand, but then again, many things about Tevinter were bizarre. “Well, perhaps read the missive over. It might be something useful.”

Dorian snorted and glanced down at the letter, then froze. “Redcliffe?” he frowned. “What's he doing there?”

“Now you have to go and see,” Arethin said. “Just to find out why anyone would go to Redcliffe.”

“That is a very good incentive,” Dorian said, wrinkling his nose. “Damn my family for accurately guessing my morbid curiosity.”

“Do you need someone to come with you?”

“Vivienne will, of course,” Dorian said immediately. “If you wish to join me, you can.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because it will likely shock the retainer greatly to realize that I am working for a heathen Dalish elf,” he rolled his eyes. “And that will be amusing.”

“You could bring Sera, or Bull, or Solas, and it would have the same effect.”

“Not quite the same as the facial tattoos, I'm afraid.” he suddenly turned serious. “And this is...rather concerning,” he admitted. “My family is likely interested in only me, and I do not believe they would have joined with the Venatori, but the fact that they sent someone all the way here...” he shook his head, expression troubled.

“Would they hurt you?” she asked. 

“Not directly,” he said. “That's what I'm worried about. If the Venatori have gotten their hold in my family...”

Arethin nodded. “I see what you mean. Very well, I will come with you.”

Redcliffe village was quiet since the rifts had been closed and the Templars had gone away. They had repaired any damages rendered to the village, and there were many farmers and such that remained inside the walls for fear of lingering attackers.

Arethin was recognized on sight, soldiers and civilians alike bowing to her in the street. The retainer had chosen to meet Dorian in the little tavern at the edge of the lake, and the three of them went there.

The tavern was empty when they went inside.

“This is odd...” Arethin murmured.

Vivienne and Dorian exchanged a look.

“Lavellan, this bodes ill,” Vivienne said. 

“I agree,” Dorian said. 

Just then, someone Arethin didn't recognize came out of the shadows of the tavern. Dorian unsuccessfully stifled a gasp.

“ _You_ ,” Dorian breathed. 

“Dorian,”

Halward Pavus was a gray looking man, exhausted and wan. He was dressed in a travel-worn robe and looked to be still dusty from the road.

Dorian began to shake. “ _You_ ,” he snarled, and stepped forward, fire licking up his hands.

“Oh, now, Dorian, my dear, this is absolutely ridiculous,” Vivienne proclaimed, snagging the back of Dorian's tunic. “Take a breath, darling.”

Dorian froze, glaring over his shoulder at her.

“Vivienne--” he hissed. “You know what he did—I am going to--”

“Rein in that temper, before this entire building goes up in flames,” she instructed. “Doubtless you are planning on doing all sorts of vile things, but we have not the time for it.”

Halward backed up against the wall, staring at Dorian like he'd never seen him before.

“Madame de Fer,” Dorian growled. “Let me go.”

“Altus Dorian Pavus,” Vivienne said. “Why should I do any such thing, when you so obviously have gruesome murder and mutilation on your mind?”

They looked at each other for several moments, before Dorian relaxed at last. The flames went out, and his expression became one of polite distaste.

“I quite agree, Vivienne,” Dorian said, his voice only a shadow of the terrible rage of before. “And we came all the way to Redcliffe for this.”

Arethin blinked. “What exactly is going on?” she said, looking from Halward, to Dorian, to Vivienne. 

“Oh—well, it's a long and sordid story, and one I would be all to happy to share once we left,” Dorian said. 

“Yes but—who is this?' Arethin asked. “We haven't even been introduced.”

“This is Halward Pavus,” Dorian said with a sneer. “My father.” 

“Dorian--” Halward tried again. 

Dorian breathed hard through his nose. “Vivienne, my friend, I do believe we should take our leave,” he said, ignoring Halward completely. “I find myself quite tiring of present company.”

Vivienne nodded. “Myself as well, dear.” 

Dorian held out his arm, and Vivienne delicately put his hand upon it, as if they were escorting each other to a ball. They brushed past Arethin, and left, leaving her alone with Halward.

“Well,” Arethin said after a moment. She raised her eyebrows at Halward. “What exactly is that about?” 

Halward was bloodless under his copper skin. “I would say—he has always been...troublesome,” he said. “But not like that.”

“He said you were his father. How long has it been since you saw each other?”

“Two years.”

“Ah,” Arethin nodded. “I daresay it has been a bit longer for him.”

Halward frowned, not understanding. 

“Ser Pavus,” Arethin said. “I cannot imagine what you did to make him so angry. The last person he was that in a rage over was Gereon Alexius, and I can guess that what you did was not quite the same thing. Even so, clearly you should not be under the same roof.”

Halward got over his shock, his expression turning angry. “Who are you to say--”

“I am Arethin Nadur Lavellan,” she said. “I am the one who closed the breach, and the Mediator to the Southern Alliance—of which Dorian and Vivienne's people are a part of, I might add.” 

Halward deflated. “I...have heard of you,” he said slowly. “I'd thought—well, if Dorian was uncooperative, I could speak to the—people he was with--”

“Well. I am here now.” she raised her eyebrows. “What, precisely, is the issue that has Dorian all aflame? He mentioned some quarrel about his choice of partners.”

Halward looked away from her. “I—wished what was best for him,” he said. “I did—something which...he did not like. Then he...managed to leave, in spite of...everything.”

“ _Managed_ to leave?” 

Halward still did not look at her. “This is hardly for your ears,” he said. 

“Well. In that case, I'd advise against you seeking us out again. It appears Dorian will have nothing to do with you.”

Halward glanced at the door that Dorian and Vivienne had left through. “Please...what happened?” he breathed. “He looks—not so different. But he acts...”

Arethin took pity on him. “He was subject to a spell that Alexius performed, and to make a long story short, if you have not seen him for two years, he has not seen you in more than five. Perhaps closer to ten, I'm not certain.”

Halward stared at her, speechless. 

“He is most likely a better mage than you are, now,” she added. “Or at least—a good a mage as someone who's been fighting for five solid years is.” she looked him up and down. “I understand you're a noble, of some variety. I would keep that in mind, Lord Pavus.”

Halward looked at the door again, but appeared to have nothing more to say. Arethin left, to rejoin Vivienne and Dorian outside. 

The two of them were down the road a ways, talking airily as if they were doing nothing more than taking an afternoon stroll.

When Dorian caught sight of Arethin, he scowled.

“So,” he said. “What took you so long?”

“I spoke with your father.”

“And?”

“And, I heavily implied you might immolate him if he came close,” she said with a shrug. “He wouldn't explain what the issue was, only that he wanted to see you.”

Dorian snorted. “Of course he did.” 

“Dorian, what did he do?” she asked. “You really did look like you wanted to kill him, but it's been years for you. What happened?”

He sighed. 

“Years, in a sense,” he said. “And I'm certainly not who I was. But I still can't go back.”

“Why not?”

“Well—you recall that my family did not like my...choice of companion.”

“Yes, you told me that.”

“It was a point of contention and grave embarrassment for some years,” he explained, glancing over his shoulder as if worried his father would follow them. “Well, it would have been so much of a problem if he hadn't--” Dorian faltered.

“Hadn't what?”

“He tried to change me,” Dorian's voice cracked, and Vivienne put a hand on his shoulder. 

“How?”

“With blood magic.”

Arethin went pale. “That could have killed you,” she said. “Controlling someone's mind for that long--”

“Yes, or made me a vegetable. I'm well aware of the risks and so was he.” Dorian's tone was sour.

“And he did it anyway?”

“He did.”

“Are you positive I shouldn't go back and break his jaw?”

“Yes, quite sure,” Dorian rolled his eye.

“I am entirely capable of enacting revenge as well, dear,” Vivienne said.

“So am I, but I don't think we really need to,” Dorian said with a sigh. He looked exhausted. “Not right now. We're busy.” he shook his head. “All this fuss, and I haven't had a paramour in—Maker, Vivienne, you know I haven't had the time, not since...”

“What of that Cadash boy?” Vivienne said.

“Angmar?” Dorian blinked. 

Vivienne radiated disapproval. “Dorian, dear, he is in the library practically every day. Do you need him to spell it out with signs?”

“Oh,” Dorian said. “I thought he was just...genuinely interested in magic. He's a dwarf, so I thought--”

Vivienne sighed. “You,” she proclaimed. “Are remarkably out of practice.”

“Do you blame me?”

“You are worse than Lavellan.”

“I beg your pardon?” Arethin said. 

“I am not!” Dorian protested. “ _No one_ could be as bad as Lavellan.”

“As I recall, Cassandra and I—are what we are—and you, as you mentioned, have no one.”

Dorian snorted. The three of them returned to Skyhold, Halward Pavus left behind, and hopefully, not to bother Dorian again.


	27. And I Said To The Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cass finally catches a bit of a break, and we meet clan lavellan

When Clan Lavellan decided to visit, they came around the long way, instead of by eluvian.

It was rather a surprise when an entire Dalish Clan turned up on Skyhold's doorstep, and they were immediately let in by the guard at the gate. Spotting them from the keep, Arethin raced outside, bounding down the steps to the familiar figures that now crowded the lower courtyard. Arethin kept an eye out for one familiar figure in particular, and when she spotted the white-haired elf she sought, she beamed.

“Keeper!” Arethin exclaimed. 

“Arethin,” Deshanna smiled and wrapped Arethin up in a hug. “How are you?”

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” Arethin assured her. “What about you and the Clan? Are you all alright?” 

Deshanna smiled. “Of course,” she said. “Of course.”

“You never told me you were coming!” the other Clanmembers began to gather around them.

“We were coming this way anyway,” said one woman, dressed in a hunter's leathers. “Figured we might as well go the long way instead of crowding the crossroads.”

“Dalinev!” Arethin greeted the senior hunter by lightly punching her in the arm. “Tell me you all kept yourselves healthy while I've been gone?”

Dalinev rubbed her arm. “Yes,” she rolled her eyes and grinned. 

“Good. Keep it that way.”

“Arethin!” two of the Clan's younger children, Vunlean and Taralin, came hurrying up to her. 

Arethin leaned down. “Hello, you two!” she said with a broad smile. She patted Vunlean's hair. “My word, your hair's gotten long!”

Vunlean giggled. “You still don't have any.”

“That's true. How have you been? What was the trip like?” she picked up tiny Taralin and set her on her shoulders. “Did you see anything exciting?”

“That thing in the sky,” Taralin said, leaning over so she could speak right into Arethin's ear. “That hole. We saw all kinds of weird holes on the way—Rajasha fought a demon!”

“Did she now?” Arethin looked for Rajasha in the crowd. 

“She did!” Vunlean said. “She got her vallaslin 'cos of it.”

Arethin spotted Rajasha, the tall, muscular woman with long thick hair in a braid that fell halfway down her back. She had the dark red vallaslin of Elgar'nan on her face, still clearly fresh.

“Well, now she has to tell me the story!” Arethin said. She set Taralin down and went over to Rajasha, who was currently fighting with an uncooperative halla. 

“Arethin,” Rajasha grinned over one shoulder. “Nice to see you.”

“I hear you fought a demon,” Arethin said, crossing her arms. 

“Keeper said it was a Rage demon,” Rajasha told her. “It was twice my size and liked to set things on fire. We lost one of the aravels to it.”

Arethin frowned. “Oh—Creators, I should have called you all months ago,” she curled her hands into fists. “I thought you'd be safer away from here—honestly, fighting demons without me--”

Rajasha got the halla calmed down. “I still killed the thing,” she pointed out. “Anyway, if you were there, I'm sure you would have stared at it and it would have gone away. Then I'd never have my vallaslin.”

Arethin snorted. “You could have just gotten a wolf pelt!” she exclaimed. She gnawed her knuckle. “Demons—I don't like it. I should never have left you all alone...”

“You hardly left us alone,” came the voice of elderly Myathem, the Clan's hahren. “As it turns out, you _can_ leave the Clan and nothing terrible will happen.” 

Arethin turned and wrapped her arms around Myathem. “I know,” she said into his tunic. “But that still makes me want to kill every demon that even so much as looked at you funny.”

“And we do appreciate that, da'len,” Myathem patted her on the back. 

“You are all alright though, aren't you?” Arethin asked.

“We're fine, we're fine,” Myathem assured her. “We were more worried about you, to be honest.”

She glanced up at him in surprise. “Me? Why me?”

“Oh, well, da'len, you were in such a bad way,” Myathem's gaze turned sympathetic. “After that terrible business with Elladen, and then the Breach—we didn't know what to think.”

Arethin swallowed. “It turned out alright.”

“Deshanna about ready to lead a damned charge on Haven, when word came that you'd gone and changed everything and gotten Keeper Lanaya to help...that was good. But then...well, honestly, everything seems rather confusing.”

“It does a bit, doesn't it?”

“Da'len, we really want to know more about this Fen'harel business,” he said. 

“Oh, Hahren...”

“I mean it,” Myathem insisted. “Deshanna's about ready to storm your castle and pin his ears back. I told her she shouldn't, but--”

“No one has given me any reason not to,” Deshanna reappeared by Myathem's side.

“The pair of you, honestly--” 

“ _Arethin_ ,” Deshanna folded her arms.

“ _Deshanna_.” Arethin crossed her arms as well.

“ _Both of you_ ,” Myathem rolled his eyes. 

“You could have come and met him anytime!” Arethin said. “You could have come anytime at all!”

“Da'len, we've been so far away from any of the eluvians...” Deshanna sighed. 

“Why? Is something wrong?” Arethin asked, worried. 

“We got stranded,” Myathem admitted. “After you left for the Conclave, we headed back up north around Wycome—and we just got stuck under a blizzard for about three months.”

“You never said!” Arethin exclaimed. 

“We didn't want you to worry,” Deshanna said.

“But we could have sent someone to help!”

“Da'len, you were busy enough, and we were weeks away from the nearest eluvian,” Deshanna explained. 

“Then why didn't you just go back to an eluvian and--?” 

“Kept being cut off,” Myathem said with a frown. “We kept running into trouble any time we tried to get near one. Tal-Vashoth bandits, some runaway mages—eventually when we just stuck to back roads and went the long way, they stopped bothering us.”

“Tal-vashoth?” Arethin frowned, then a horrible thought struck her. “Qunari,” she hissed. 

“What is it?” 

“Shouldn't be a problem anymore,” she shook her head, and made a mental note to look into it later. 

“Um...Arethin?” this voice came from a young woman with white-blonde hair pulled into thick locks and bound on top of her head. Her skin was even darker than Arethin's and her face was yet free of vallaslin. Deshanna and Myathem turned away, letting the two of them have a more private conversation.

“Ilonena,” Arethin smiled. “Hello, da'len. How are you?”

Ilonena had been Elladen's only agemate. 

“I'm alright,” she said. “How...how are you?”

Arethin put an arm around Ilonena's shoulders. “I'm fine,” she said, and they walked a little ways away from the others so they could talk in private. 

“Are you sure?”

Arethin chuckled. “I'm as fine as one can be, considering the circumstances.”

Ilonena looked at her with large eyes. “Deshanna was--” she cut herself off. 

“Was what?”

She just shook her head. “Never mind. I—I missed you,” she said quietly. 

“I missed you too. I missed all of you.”

“But both you and Elladen were gone,” Ilonena's voice was almost a whisper now. “We thought you might be dead, too, after the Conclave.”

“I'm sorry,” Arethin said. “I really am. I didn't mean for that to happen.” she thought about that. “I'm fairly sure no one did, really.”

Ilonena wiped at her eyes. “And then we heard—the Chantry got you,” she said, her voice choked. “And I thought maybe—the Templars--”

“Oh, no, no,” Arethin soothed her. “No, da'len. No Templars. They didn't come anywhere near me, I promise.”

“I didn't even think about the demons,” Ilonena admitted. “Just the Templars. I thought maybe they'd brought you to one of those horrible Circles—Deshanna thought you were trapped--”

“I know, Myathem told me,” Arethin said. “I'm sorry you were so worried, I really am.”

“Deshanna didn't even know who she'd have as First if you died,” Ilonena whispered. 

Arethin blinked. “Surely Halevune or someone from another Clan...?”

“I don't know,” Ilonena shook her head. “No one wanted to think about it. Halevune still gets upset if we talk about it.”

“Well, I'm alright,” Arethin assured her. 

“Are you quite certain of that?” 

Arethin frowned at Deshanna, who'd come up behind them. “Keeper...” 

“She still wants to know about Fen'harel,” Myathem said, and the rest of the Clan began to gather.

“Oh, yes!” one of the younger members, a mage, exclaimed. “I haven't seen any giant wolves, though--”

“Did you really meet him?” Ilonena asked. “Or was it just stories?”

“It's different than the stories,” Arethin explained patiently. “He's just a person. In Elvhenan things were...complicated. It's a long story.” 

“So does that mean he's not going to eat you?” Taralin asked. 

“No, he wouldn't,” Arethin assured her with a sigh, giving Deshanna a raised eyebrow. “He doesn't eat people.” 

“Did you lock him up here?” Vunlean demanded. “We met other Dalish who said you did!”

“It isn't like that,” Arethin said, running a hand over her head. “We just...agreed...that he should stay here.” Solas was likely not going to be overly pleased with the rumors going about the Dalish concerning him, if this were any example. 

“And he isn't doing anything to trick you?” Deshanna asked, her arms folded. “You're certain?”

“Oh—if it will please all of you, you can meet him,” she said, hands on hips. “Alright?”

Murmurs went through the crowd, but they all agreed. 

“Yes, let's,” Myatham, the only one who seemed to be remotely pleased, said. “If only to stop your fretting, Deshanna.”

“I am not _fretting_ , I simply--”

“Do you not trust my judgement?” Arethin demanded.

“No, that is not it, I simply...” Deshanna sighed. “Fine. Let us meet your...friend.”

“Alright,” Arethin said. “I will go find him.” she went into the keep, letting the Clan settle themselves in the yard. She knew that most of them would find the keep fascinating, but would not wish to stay inside it. 

Solas was in the little space he had commandeered under the library, as usual. The walls had been whitewashed and now bore many murals, with a new panel that had been painted after Arethin's return from Halam'shiral.

“Solas?” Arethin said.

Solas looked up from his book. “I had heard your Clan arrived,” he said. “Do you not wish to be with them?”

“I want them to meet you,” she said. “So my Keeper will stop fussing.”

Solas hesitated. “I am uncertain if that would be...productive,” he began. “I am sure they will want to meet Cassandra more--”

“No, Keeper needs to see you else she'll be convinced you've tricked me into something horrible,” Arethin said. “She'll be unsettled enough by Cassandra, if she meets you first she'll have less of a problem with her.”

Solas got to his feet. “Why would she take issue with Cassandra?” he asked as she lead the way out the keep.

“Keeper's a...traditionalist,” Arethin said with a shrug. “And Cassandra being a Chantry human is...problematic.”

“I see.” 

The Clan had settled near the stables, in one of the spaces designated for any visiting Clans. 

“Keeper,” Arethin called, and Deshanna looked up. Arethin waved her over. Upon noticing that Arethin had brought company, the rest of the Clan began to take interest as well.

“Keeper, this is Solas, also known as Fen'harel, but that's not his name,” Arethin said. “Solas, this is Keeper Deshanna.”

Solas inclined his head. “I am pleased to meet you.”

Deshanna jerkily nodded, looking Solas over with a critical eye.

“Are you really Fen'harel?” piped up Taralin, who'd snuck up on Arethin's side. Solas looked down at the girl, eyebrows raised.

“That is what people called me, yes,” Solas said. 

“Can you turn into a wolf?” Rajasha asked. 

“What did you do to the Creators?” Vunlean asked. “Arethin says--” her question was cut off by a flurry of questions from the Clan, who all began to crowd close. 

“Enough, all of you!” Arethin said eventually. “Did you all forget your manners while I was gone?”

The younger Clanmembers mumbled apologies, and the crowd backed up a little. Solas ducked his head and hid a smile. 

Myathem came forward, shooing the others out of the way. 

“We heard that you helped our people a great deal,” Myathem said. “That's what Arethin has told us, anyway.”

“I helped to close the Breach, yes, and I have helped with the mark as well.”

“You see?” Arethin told Deshanna. “What did I tell you?”

Deshanna continued to glare. 

“It's a clever trickster who ingratiates himself to those he wishes to trick,” she informed Arethin. 

“Deshanna!” 

“You are correct, of course,” Solas looked as if he were caught between being offended and amused. “I cannot blame you for being cautious.” 

“So long as we understand each other,” Deshanna said. 

“As you wish.” 

Deshanna gave another stiff nod, then turned and left. Myathem rolled his eyes. 

“She's a traditionalist,” he explained. “Mind you, she has a point,” he said, looking significantly at both Arethin and Solas. “A clever trickster is the one who makes you think there's no trick at all.” 

“I know,” Arethin said. “We've discussed this at length,” she and Solas shared a look.

Myathem shrugged. 

“Very well,” he said. “Well—if Arethin says you're to be trusted, I suppose you're to be trusted,” he said, looking Solas up and down. 

“Thank you,” Solas said. 

“You're welcome.”

“Well, now that that's sorted,” Arethin said. “I hope you all realize Fen'harel is not about to do me any harm?”

“Well, I don't know about that,” Myathem said. “If he's the sort you've _taken up_ with--”

“Myathem!” Arethin exclaimed, both she and Solas flushing. 

“Well, how am I supposed to know what kind of menfolk you like?” Myathem demanded. “You're so quick to defend him to Deshanna, I was wondering--”

“Arethin and I are _friends_ ,” Solas said quickly, his face extremely red. “In any case, I am...otherwise engaged.” 

“Oh,” Myathem nodded. “Well, good.”

“I can't believe you, Myathem,” Arethin said, face still hot. “I mean—I have—we aren't--”

Myathem raised his eyebrows. “Aha, so there's someone you have taken up with then? I mean, if you're that flustered about it...”

“Myathem! My romantic life is not your business, for the love of--” she spotted Solas hiding another smile and she glared at him. “You're both ridiculous.”

“Deshanna'll want to meet him,” Myathem said. “And so will everyone else, you know.”

“Then I'll go take Deshanna to meet _her_ , and you can interrogate Solas about _his_ romantic life, if you're wanting that much for gossip,” Arethin informed him, her arms folded.

“Excuse me?” Solas protested, and Myathem's expression gained a devious cast. 

“The best way to make friends with the Clan is to give them gossip,” Arethin informed Solas. “Now, I need to find Deshanna.” she turned before either of them could stop her, and went in search of the Keeper.

Deshanna was over by the halla, busy soothing one. She still seemed distinctly unhappy. 

“He's very short, for being Fen'harel,” she informed Arethin when she approached. 

“Deshanna, you and he are the same height. Which is taller than most people.”

Deshanna just sighed and shook her head. 

“Why don't I introduce you to some of the others?' Arethin suggested, steering Deshanna towards the keep.

“Very well,” Deshanna said. “But if any more of them are--”

“I do not have any duplicates of Solas hanging about, Keeper,” Arethin said, her voice very dry. “Come, you can meet my friend Cassandra.” 

The Keeper took her elbow. “Now, da'len, who is this friend?” she asked. “Someone less troublesome than the...” she sighed. “Than Solas?”

“I don't know about that,” Arethin said, some anxiety rising in the pit of her stomach. “She's—ah, well, it's complicated--” 

Deshanna raised her eyebrow. “Is this young lady something other than a simple friend?” she asked.

“You are just as bad as Myathem,” Arethin accused, heat rising in her cheeks.

“Ah, so she is, I see.” 

“Now—she's the Inquisitor, so I suppose that makes her a Chantry person,” Arethin said. “She was Justinia's right hand.”

“My word, Arethin,” Deshanna sighed. “You don't make things easy, do you?”

“I wasn't aware that was in my job description.” 

“Does she know about Elladen?”

Arethin nodded. “She knows.”

Deshanna huffed and folded her arms. “Alright then. If I'm going to trust you on Fen'harel--”

“Solas.”

“Then I'll trust you on the Inquisitor.”

“Cassandra.”

Cassandra was commonly found on the training grounds, near the forge. She was reading a book—one of her beloved romance novels, Arethin guessed—when she spotted Arethin coming over. She hid her book and went over.

“Arethin,” she smiled.

“Cassandra!” Arethin smiled back and moved to Cassandra's side, and put her arm around her waist, and Deshanna's eyebrows threatened to vanish into her hairline. “Cassandra, this is my Clan's Keeper, Keeper Deshanna,” she nodded in Deshanna's direction. “Deshanna, Cassandra Pentaghast.”

Cassandra inclined her head. “I am honored to meet you, Keeper.”

Deshanna smiled. “I am pleased to meet you as well,” she said.

“Do you plan to stay long?”

“As long as Arethin will have us,” Deshanna said. “You must meet the rest of the Clan, da'len, they'd be delighted to meet you.”

Cassandra smiled. “I would say I am sorry you cannot meet my own family, but they are...difficult to be around,” she shook her head. “I hope it does not trouble you,” she told Arethin.

“Oh, no, of course not,” Arethin said. “The Clan's just going to show up where I do, eventually.”

“Where is the rest of the Clan?”

“Interrogating Solas about his love life,” Arethin said without blinking. “And settling in, too, I suppose.”

Cassandra laughed. “I see,” she said. “I shall have to meet them, then.” 

“You can come and meet them now,” Arethin said. “Everyone should.” 

“I do have a report for Josephine I have to finish,” Cassandra sighed. “I was only pausing in writing it.”

“Reading one of your books?” Arethin teased, and Cassandra flushed. 

“If you must know, yes,” she said primly. 

“Oh, Arethin, do you have many books here?” Deshanna asked. “We can't have many, traveling all the while the way we do,” Deshanna explained to Cassandra. “But I love books.”

“We have a whole library,” Cassandra said. “I have—my own, but there are a great many more in the library.” 

“You have your own books?” Deshanna asked, her face lighting up. Cassandra blushed.

“Well—yes,” she said. “They are—not very serious, or--”

“They're romances,” Arethin supplied.

“Arethin!” Cassandra exclaimed, embarrassed. 

“I've hardly had the opportunity to read many novels,” Deshanna said. “Do you have any recommendations?”

“Oh—well,” Cassandra was taken aback. “I—I could bring some, if you wished,” she said, still blushing, but Deshanna's enthusiasm seemed to give her confidence. 

“That would be lovely!” Deshanna exclaimed. “You must come by later, when we are more settled. Arethin, da'len, we should help the Clan finish setting up.”

“Of course,” Arethin said. “Cassandra, excuse us—the Clan will be intolerable if they meet too many new people at once, we'd never get anything done.”

“I will see you later,” Cassandra said with a laugh, smiling at Arethin before turning to leave. After she did, Deshanna raised her eyebrows at Arethin. 

“What?” Arethin said, putting her hands on her hips. 

“She is very sweet,” Deshanna laughed and shook her head. “I am surprised, is all,” she said. “She must be very special, to have captured your interest so.”

Arethin sighed and stared after Cassandra. “She is.”

“On the other hand, considering your other recent company...”

“Deshanna.”

“Honestly, between Fen'harel and the right hand, I'm really beginning to wonder what's going on in your head.” she reached over and rapped Arethin's head with her knuckles.

Arethin laughed and swatted Deshanna away. “Deshanna, it could be worse,” a wicked grin spread over Arethin's face. “It could be _Solas_ I was interested in.”

Deshanna went pale. “Do not even joke,” she said. 

Arethin smirked. “Then it is fortunate that he and I are interested in different people.” 

“You will give me a heart attack one of these days, dear one,” Deshanna informed her. “And then where will we be?” 

“Presumably, I will be restarting your heart.” she couldn't resist. “Myathem even asked me if Solas and I were--”

“Oh, for the love of Mythal,” Deshanna groaned. “I swear, Myathem is worse than my own mother, and she was a gossipy old hen.” 

“Well, he can go pry gossip out of Solas, not me,” Arethin said. “I think they'll keep each other occupied.”

Deshanna snorted. “Feed each other's bad habits, more like,” she shook her head. 

In the end, Arethin ended up inviting the entire Clan to dine within the keep, so they could easier meet everyone else. Cassandra positively enchanted them by bringing several books, much to her surprise. Varric likewise delighted people by bringing them his own books, and was rather pleased that his works were so popular among the Dalish.

Dorian was appalled at how many Clanmembers loved tawdry romances, but couldn't get anyone but the mages interested in his preferred literature (magical theory). Vivienne also recommended books, once she realized how many in the Clan loved them. There was some initial worry about Iron Bull, but when it was explained that he was Tal-vashoth, that, combined with his friendly demeanor, made things much more pleasant. 

Solas was an endless source of fascination, and he seemed to have steered conversation away from his personal life by telling stories to the younger Clanmembers. Arethin had been right, however, in predicting that letting the Clan interrogate Solas made him seem more like a person to them and less a figure out of legend. As the evening wore on, he found himself surrounded by several of the younger Clan members (and their parents), telling them all about spirits and Elvhenan. 

Cole was likewise fascinating, when he deigned to be seen. The large crowd seemed to be somewhat distressing to him, however, and when he appeared, he tended to stick by Solas' side for a few moments before vanishing again. 

The one individual Arethin was a bit worried about was Sera. Sera was still fairly wary around the Dalish, and she seemed nervous at the prospect of meeting Arethin's Clan. Arethin decided introducing her to Myathem first would be a good idea.

“Sera, this is Myathem,” Arethin said. “Myathem, this is my friend Sera.”

Myathem smiled at Sera, who narrowed her eyes at him in a suspicious manner. 

“Pleased to meet you, young lady,” Myathem said, inclining his head.

“Yeah,” Sera drawled, shifting from foot to foot. 

“Sera is the with the Red Jennies,” Arethin explained. 

“The Jennies?” Myathem's face lit up. “They never talk to us, but any time we hear about your handiwork it's—well, it's very funny.”

Sera stared at him. “You think so?”

“Yes, of course! Not everyone thinks so,” he rolled his eyes. “But I say too many people can't appreciate a good joke when they see it.”

Sera's face lit up. “Really?”

Myathem quickly engaged Sera in talk about pranks, which Arethin was quite sure that Deshanna wouldn't appreciate, but it went a long way towards making Sera more comfortable.

The Clan stayed for only a week afterwards, and Arethin did not see much of them, being as busy as she was. They left via eluvian, headed towards somewhere safer than Wycome, and that set Arethin's mind at ease. 

It was after the Lavellan Clan left that another unexpected individual made his way to Skyhold. This individual was someone dear to Cassandra, a friend in the Seekers. The man did not draw attention like a Clan did, instead coming in with a group of refugees. 

Cassandra stared at him when she saw him.

“Daniel? What are you doing here?”

“Cassandra,” Daniel beamed. “Oh, Maker, I'm so glad I caught you,”

“Where have you been?” she asked. “Are you alright? What has been happening?”

“I got...caught up in things when the war started,” he explained. 

“The other Seekers--”

“Scattered, dead,” he shook his head. “I don't know what happened to all of them. Lucius—the things he did...”

He cut himself off when he spotted Arethin coming towards them. 

“Friend of yours, Cassandra?” Arethin said, looking at him curiously. 

“Arethin, this is Daniel,” Cassandra said. “He was my apprentice in the Seekers, but we lost track of each other when the war began.”

“Pleased to meet you, my lady,” Daniel said. 

“Your apprentice?” Arethin said, raising her eyebrows. “Why didn't we look for him sooner?”

“We could not spare the time,” Cassandra sighed and turned to Daniel. “I am sorry, Daniel,” she said. “When the war started--”

“I know, Cassandra,” he said. “You've nothing to apologize for. I'd've come to you sooner, but...things got in the way.”

“Such as?”

“I was hunting down the Lord Seeker,” Daniel growled. “The one that Grand Cleric appointed.”

Arethin and Cassandra looked at each other, surprised.

Cassandra held out her hands. “Daniel—you could have contacted us, we would have helped--”

Daniel shook his head. “No, you had enough on your plate as is,”

“But--”

“I found the Lord Seeker.” 

Cassandra paused, and narrowed her eyes. “Lucius?”

Daniel nodded. “Cassandra—he killed the others. He wanted to try and lure us to--” he cut himself off. 

“Daniel?” Cassandra leaned forward. “Lure you to what?”

“He wanted to destroy the Seekers,” Daniel managed. “He—I don't know all of what went on, but after he took over he—started calling the Seekers—the ones loyal to him—and he killed them.” 

“Why?” Cassandra exclaimed. “What for?” 

“What's the point of that?” Arethin asked. 

“He told me—when I met him, he told me--” Daniel sighed and closed his eyes. “He'd gone absolutely mad, Cassandra. He knew things about the Seekers, things no one but the Lord Seeker is supposed to know, and it...must have driven him mad.” he took a deep breath. “He killed all the others. He lured them there, and he killed them. When I got there he rambled some—nonsense about how—the Seeker order wasn't meant to survive, how--” he trailed off. 

“What happened to the Lord Seeker?” Arethin asked.

“Dead,” Daniel's mouth twisted into a grimace. “I killed him.”

“Oh,” Cassandra scowled. “I could expect little else.”

“I suppose you would,” Daniel gave a ghostly laugh. “He wasn't exactly very loyal to Justinia.”

“Of course not.” Cassandra sighed and looked down. 

“Cassandra...he had...this...” Daniel pulled a book from his bag, a heavy tome with the Seeker's symbol on the front of it. Cassandra gingerly took it.

“This book has more things than I could ever have guessed—Cassandra—we always knew how to reverse Tranquility,” Daniel said. “We made the Rite. And we knew how to change it back.”

Cassandra went silent. 

“They knew?” Arethin breathed. “The whole time--?” 

“They knew,” Cassandra was white with anger. “The Lord Seeker wanted to start the war over it, and he already knew--!”

Arethin reached out and took Cassandra's hand, and Cassandra wrapped her fingers tightly around Arethin's.

Daniel looked from Cassandra to Arethin. 

“Daniel...” Cassandra leaned against the wall. “I know they lied. The Chantry has lied about many things.”

“Cassandra—but—what do we do about this?” Daniel asked.

“I don't know, Daniel,” she admitted. “Many here would say that we should let the Seekers go. Others would say it is important that they remain.”

“What do you think?”

“Daniel...” she shook her head. “The Chantry has lied, and broken our own laws, and promises, too many times to count. We took power and abused it. I do not know that if we restored the Seekers, the same would not happen again.”

Daniel decided ultimately to stay with the Inquisition, which pleased Cassandra considerably.


	28. From These Emerald Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one has a good time this week

The Wardens had returned to Adamant Fortress. They learned this some time after the encounter with Erimond in the Approach, and it was a bit of a surprise. 

“Why would they be back?” Arethin asked. “They weren't there before, were they?”

“Probably because you chased them away from everywhere else,” Surana said, looking down at the map. “The Orlesian Wardens wouldn't go to Ferelden, Weisshaupt is too far away, and you have people all over—everywhere, honestly.” 

Arethin shook her head. “Is there any way we can talk to them?” 

“After that stunt with Erimond? ” Surana gave a harsh laugh. “No, of course not. Can we get there, do something about them?” she asked Leliana.

“It's possible,” Leliana said. “However, the Venatori appear to be massing in that area.” her expression was troubled.

“How are we to get inside Adamant?” Cassandra asked. “If we cannot speak with them...”

Surana chewed the inside of her cheek. 

“You'll need a lot of people to get into Adamant,” she said. 

“It is quite a good thing we have an army then, isn't it?” Arethin said.

Surana laughed. “It sure is.”

“An army against the magic that Erimond was wreaking out there?” Bann Teagan asked, raising his eyebrows.

“We have to,” Arethin said. “They are important to Corypheus for some reason, and likely acting against their will.”

Fiona nodded. “We must do something for them,” she said in agreement.

To get to Adamant, they were forced to go to an eluvian in the Western Approach. In spite of the Alliance presence, the Approach was still crawling with Venatori and general hostile wildlife, and there were no Dalish Clans this far west. There were a few Deep Roads entrances, but this far west one was past the Dead Trenches, and it would be suicide to make a settlement out here. 

Griffin Wing Keep was still held by the Alliance, although apparently the Venatori had made attacks on it.

To Arethin's surprise, she found the man who had called himself Blackwall, helping to guard the keep. He went by Ranier now, and was apparently trying to make up for his mistakes.

“How did you even get out here?” she asked when she spotted him.

“The slow way. I don't exactly have fancy magical mirrors to help me, you know,' he told her, glowering under his eyebrows.

Sera was delighted. “Beardy!” she exclaimed when she saw him. “Doin' alright, yeah? Sorry these pricks tossed you out—did you hear we got a castle, now?”

“I did hear,” Ranier was happy to see Sera as well, and the pair of them moved off to talk. 

“Has there been much movement, from the Wardens or the Venatori lately?” Arethin asked the man in charge of the keep.

He frowned and shook his head. “Some from the Venatori, not any Wardens,' he said. “Ever since you chased them out of here, they've been gone.”

Arethin exchanged a look with Surana.

“It makes sense,” Surana said. “They don't want to fight you, and Erimond might have pulled them back.” she grimaced. “Don't want to jeopardize Corypheus' demon army or whatever,” she growled, and shook her head. “I knew these Orlesian idiots were half-useless when they got themselves killed by the Architect's people, but this...?”

“We'll find them,” Arethin assured her. “We shall fix this. It could be that all we must do is slay Erimond and remove the Wardens from Corypheus' influence.”

They trekked through the desert, taking with them a large number of Alliance forces so they could make an attempt at attacking Adamant. There were no eluvians closer to Adamant, so they went the long way around. Hawke, who had come with them as far as Griffin Wing Keep, chose to stay at the keep and help to defend it, having evidently had enough of this business with the Wardens.

Ranier joined them.

“I claimed to be one of them for a long time,” was his explanation. “I should see if I can help.” 

Adamant was ready for them. The walls were guarded, and Wardens stood, watching for any enemy. 

The Alliance forces approached, but Surana stopped them before they could go too far.

“I might be able to do something,” she said. 

“Like what?” Arethin asked.

“I have no idea. Just let me speak to them.”

Arethin shrugged. “If you wish. You must be quick, however.”

Surana stepped forward.

“Clarel!” she bellowed, using magic to amplify her voice. “Clarel, get out here before I drag you out!”

A tall human woman appeared over the gate.

“Surana?” she called, surprised. 

“You're damn straight! What in the name of Andraste's sanctified girdle are you people doing?”

“I do not have to explain myself to you!”

“Explain it to me, or explain it to this battering ram!' Surana pointed at the battering ram that helpfully accompanied them. 

“We seek to end the Blights completely! You will not obstruct us in this task!”

Surana scoffed. “What, you idiots who can barely hold a sword the right way around? Come on, Clarel! That Tevinter prick doesn't know what he's talking about!”

“You—come with these people who attacked my forces in the Approach, who insult me to my face—I should listen to _you_?”

“Better me than the Venatori!”

“There are no Venatori here!” 

“Is there a prick named Erimond hanging about up there?”

“Surana, this isn't getting us anywhere,” Arethin said. “I'm giving her a minute before I give the order to start the assault.”

Surana nodded. “Open the gate now, or we start shooting!” 

“We will not bow to the Alliance! We will not bow to anyone, no matter what you might say!”

Surana shook her head. “Do it,” she told Arethin. 

Arethin waved to her troops, and they headed for the gate. Several barriers kept the Wardens' spells and arrows off her people's backs until they managed to bash the door down and swarm inside.

It was a trickier thing inside. Immediately they were met with resistance—huge warriors with mauls and swords, and scattered mage assistance. 

Adamant was full of demons, the Veil inside feeling ripped and torn. Strangely, there was only one rift that Arethin could feel, a small one, very deep inside the fortress. 

They fought their way through the fortress, many of Arethin's companions being drawn off somewhere else, but Surana, Solas, Sera, Dorian, Cassandra and Iron Bull managing to stay close by her side.

Surana was a marvel to see in battle. It had been she who had brought the art of the arcane warrior back to life, finding the knowledge within an ancient artifact in the Brecelian, and she was magnificent with it. 

She cut down foes with a long and elegant blade of shining metal, suffered hardly a scratch as the Wardens sent their best against her. Arrows sailed to her and glanced off her shields, swords were turned aside, and to her armor meant little. What she could not defend against, she avoided, bursting into a cloud of stinging black flies or turning into a bird to flit away. 

Arethin had hardly ever seen the like. 

Finally Arethin and her group came to a courtyard where Clarel and Erimond addressed a crowd of Wardens. 

“Clarel!” Arethin shouted when she entered the courtyard.

Clarel looked up. She blinked, and her eyes were riveted to Surana instead of Arethin. 

“Surana,” she clenched her jaw. 

Erimond scowled. “Clarel, they can't be allowed to interfere,” he hissed in her ear. 

“Clarel, don't,” Arethin said. She looked around, hoping for any Warden that might be able to fight whatever spells Erimond and Corypheus had imposed on them, but she found none. “No,” she breathed.

Surana looked around as well. “No,” she hissed. “Not—not to _all_ of them!”

“You'll shred the Veil with this,” Arethin said. “Is that what you want? More spirits and demons coming through?”

Clarel slumped, and blood began to ooze from her nose. 

“Surana,” she hissed.

“Hush,” Erimond told her. “Corypheus needs an army. It doesn't matter how he gets it. What use is the Veil anyway? Some elvhen artifact, used to strip people of their power? I would have thought even you would see the pointlessness to that.”

Arethin and Solas exchanged a worried look. How did he know about that?

Erimond stepped closer to them, and the crowd of Wardens parted for him. “Corypheus needs demons, so he will have them. But Wardens aren't so bad either.” he smirked. “And you must admit the irony is rather...amusing.”

“If I kill you, his army's gone,” Arethin said, raising her staff.

“Ah, but so are their minds.” Erimond grinned. “If I'm gone, then—bang! Out like a candle. Do you really want that to happen?”

Arethin clenched her jaw. “If it gets Corypheus one less thing he can use--”

“It's coming,” Clarel said suddenly. Blood was pouring from her nose now, dripping from her chin. “Surana,” Clarel croaked. “It's coming. You need—you need to--”

Erimond's face twisted. “Stop,” he hissed, and Clarel groaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her temples. 

“He's coming,” she said. “Stop. You need to—need to—” 

A dragon shrieked overhead, and they all jumped.

“Corypheus,” Arethin breathed. She stared at Erimond. “What is he doing here?” she demanded. “What does he want?”

“You, I presume,” Erimond said with a shrug. 

Surana let out a cry and fell to her knees as the dragon shrieked over head. Blood gushed from her nose and she stared up with bloodshot eyes.

“Surana!” Arethin cried.

“I can hear him,” she whispered. “I can—I can--”

Arethin called for a healer, and Erimond took the moment to turn and run. Clarel staggered after him, surprisingly quick on her feet, and Arethin followed them at a run. The companions closest to her, Cassandra, Sera, Dorian, Solas and Iron Bull were right behind her. 

“If Corypheus is here, our forces need to pull back,” Solas said. “You need to sound a retreat.”

“I think they are going to retreat just fine without me,” Arethin said. 

They chased Erimond up the stairs, the dragon circling the castle. It seemed to be following them, not picking a place to land, and that did not bode well for them.

At last, Erimond came to stop on a balcony at the very top of the keep. Clarel skidded to a halt before him, reaching out with her hand, then stopping. She shook, frozen, hand outstretched.

Erimond simply shook his head at her, disappointed, as the dragon circled them. Arethin and her group stopped at the top of the stairs, watching the dragon.

The dragon came to land on the balcony, making the Keep shake with its arrival. 

Clarel screamed, broken from her trance, and clapped her hands over her ears. 

“Stop that,” Erimond instructed.

She bit her lip and whimpered behind her teeth, blood trickling down her face to drip off of her chin. 

“Really, I don't understand the problem,” Erimond tutted, as the dragon stepped forward. With it came a terrible smell, like a new grave in the summer, and a cloud of flies surrounded the thing.

Arethin and her group stepped back as one, uncertain of what to do. The dragon kneeled down, its neck close to the ground, allowing the figure riding on its back to step off. 

Corypheus dismounted the dragon, and his immense size seemed even more overwhelming compared to Erimond, who barely came up to his chest.

“So,” he said, and Clarel cried out again at the sound of his voice and collapsed to the ground. His silver eyes were riveted on Arethin. “You are here, thief.”

“And you are here,” Arethin said, trying to sound braver than she felt. 

Corypheus glanced at Solas. “And you,” one side of his mouth twisted. 

Meanwhile, Clarel dragged herself across the ground, to Erimond, and the dragon. 

“Clarel...” Erimond warned. 

“You...” Clarel gasped, spitting blood from her mouth. “You have killed us...”

“You did that yourself.”

“Then you will come with us.” Clarel's hands glimmered with a lightning spell, and the veil around them practically cracked in two with the force of it.

“Clarel--!” Erimond shouted, but Clarel did not heed him, and her spell struck home before anyone could stop it.

The balcony crumbled from underneath them. Everyone began to fall. The dragon took off, Corypheus with it, and Arethin and her companions backed up, then ran, trying to avoid the falling floor. 

They were not fast enough, and they all fell, straight towards the rift that hovered in the sky above the courtyard.

In one last effort, Arethin thrust her hand open and yanked at the Veil, cracking it like she would crack glass. 

The rift tore open, and they plummeted into it. For a moment she smelled vinegar, then everything went dark, as if she had dived into a pool of black water. There was nothing around her, no light, no ground, no forwards or backwards. She just continued to fall. 

Then she found herself rushing at a rocky face, and just before she hit it, she stopped with a gasp. She flailed for a moment, disoriented in the lack of gravity. She breathed hard through her nose, and reached out and touched the rock.

The minute her finger touched the rock, she plummeted to the ground. She sucked in a breath, the wind knocked out of her. 

“Are you alright?'

She looked up, and saw Solas standing over her.

“Fine,” she said, and got to her feet, stumbling before managing to orient herself. The others were there as well, all in various states of disorientation. Only Solas seemed fine and upright. There was no Erimond, no Clarel, no Corypheus, and no dragon, which was fortunate. Less fortunate were the confusing conditions they were in.

“Where are we?” Cassandra asked, looking around.

The area where they were was entirely rock, and felt...strange. Arethin looked up, and saw the sky was green.

“We're in the Fade,” Arethin breathed.

“The Fade?” Bull exclaimed, looking around and holding his ax tighter. Sera began to swear vehemently, casting about and rubbing her shoulders in an anxious way.

“How did we get here?” Dorian asked. “This makes no sense—how are we here?”

“We must have gone through the rift I opened,” Arethin said, and shook her head. “I didn't know we could physically pass through the rifts--”

“Normally, we should not be able to,” Solas said. “However, in a rift large and unstable enough...and perhaps driven by a singular motivation...”

“Perhaps the motivation to not fall to our deaths?”

“Like that, yes.”

“Perfect,” Dorian muttered. “You do recall that the last time anything of this like happened--”

“It was Corypheus, I know, Dorian,” Arethin waved a hand. “We are hardly planning to go to the Golden City.”

“We would not be able to reach it,” Solas said. “See—it is almost close enough to touch,” he pointed overhead, at the dark mass of a city far overhead. “But we cannot reach it.”

“Figures _you_ wouldn't mind being here,” Sera growled at him. 

“How do we get out of here?” Iron Bull asked. “I really don't want to stick around and get possessed by a demon.”

“You would not be unless you allowed it to, Bull,” Solas reminded him, and patted him on the shoulder. 

“I appreciate that, but it's still...creepy.”

Solas nodded. “I believe this place might be home to a nightmare demon, or some other creature of that variety.”

“How can you tell?” Arethin asked.

“Can you not feel it? Fear sunken into the rock and air. Many people had nightmares here, and a demon fed off of that fear.”

They all shuddered, and Arethin felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Solas—the Veil—can we take it down from here?” Arethin asked.

Solas shook his head. “No, we don't have the power,” he said. 

“I still do not think we should do such a thing,” Cassandra said.

“It is irrelevant whether we should or not,” Solas said. “We cannot.” 

“Are you sure?” Arethin asked, narrowing her eyes. 

“You are the only one who might have that ability at this time,” Solas said. “Could you do it?”

Arethin blinked. “That wouldn't be a good idea.” she could not articulate why this was, she just knew that if she were to try it here something bad would happen. 

“Exactly.”

“Who is it who enters my domain?”

That voice shook their bones. It coiled around them like something that was almost alive, black and cold, viscous and dripping, and listening to it was like sinking into an oily black pool. 

“Ah—the Alliance. How delightful.”

A taste like biting a razor blade, feeling it sink into your mouth, blood dripping down your chin--

Another sound came to Arethin's ears, and she realized Dorian was murmuring the Chant of Light to himself. 

“Be calm,” Solas advised them. “This particular spirit feeds on fear and nightmares. If you are afraid, you will make it stronger, and it will invest more effort into making you afraid.”

“Ah, Fen'harel, always so clever,” there was a smile in that voice, too many teeth crawling with insects, a bloated corpse in the summer. “Not quite clever enough to avoid all of that death, though, were you?”

“Arethin, is there any way that you can tear the Veil again, and we can escape?” Solas asked, ignoring the demon.

Shaking herself, Arethin felt around. The Veil was thick here, and she was fairly sure they were in a different area than when they entered. She shook her head. “I think we'd have better luck finding somewhere that already had damage,” she said. “Where did we come in? It couldn't have closed by itself.”

“No, I think we landed somewhere far away from the rift,” Dorian said. 

“There,” Cassandra pointed. Far away, up a jumbled collection of boulders, was a rippling tear in the normality of the Fade. “That must be it. We fell quite a long ways.”

“Cassandra.” the demon rumbled to itself, murmuring in their ears. “A Seeker of Truth. But what is truth, Seeker? Your Chantry seems to be built of nothing but lies upon lies. I wonder where the Maker is in all of this?”

Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, and Arethin took her hand.

“Die in the Void, demon,” Cassandra growled. 

“Come,” Arethin said, pointing up a set of stairs. “This way.”

They made their way up the stairs, through the jagged rocks and ruins. Gravity seemed to work on a case-by-case basis in the Fade, with statues and buildings floating as they willed. 

Experimentally, Dorian jumped up and down a few times.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra asked, staring at him.

“I'm trying to figure out why we're staying on the ground.” he said. “I can't work out why anything else is or isn't.”

“I would advise you not do that, unless you wish this to turn into a falling nightmare,” Solas advised. “As our bodies are here and not just our minds, I would suggest caution.”

“Wait—what would you be doing, if it was just our minds here?” Dorian asked. “Would you suggest trying to test gravity then?”

Solas considered that. “Repealing the laws of gravity attracts demons when one is directly in the Fade, especially in areas such as this,” he said. “I would still not advise it.”

“There has to be something good to come from all this weird crap,” Bull said. “Can you ever fly around in the Fade? I've had flying dreams before.”

“It depends,” Solas said. “As the Fade is built of emotions and the mind, it is much more mutable than the physical world. However, too much activity or certain kinds of activities in the wrong place or time can result in unwanted attention.”

They came to the top of the hill, where a woman waited. She was dressed in a Chantry habit, her long white robe immaculate and shining.

“Justinia?” Cassandra whispered.

She smiled. “Cassandra.”

“Cassandra, don't,” Arethin put an arm out to stop Cassandra getting too close.

“But--”

'That is likely not Justinia, but a being wearing her likeness,” Solas explained.

“Like wearin' her skin as a mask?” Sera made a face. “Creepy.”

“Not quite,” Solas corrected. “It took her personality as its own.”

“Still creepy. That's even worse!”

“Are you sure?” Cassandra asked, her expression pleading. “Could it not be Justinia? Perhaps she went into the Breach when you did--”

“How would she have gotten here?” Arethin asked. 'How would she still be alive? It has been months, Cassandra.”

“I do not presume to know how the Fade works!”

“Whether I am Justinia or not does not matter to you,” the spirit said. “I am here to help.”

“Why?” Solas asked.

“Because you need it.”

“Why us, more than anyone?”

“You know why.” she gestured towards Arethin. “The mark on your hand. You have been given the power to heal the world, re-weave it back together.”

“And you wish to help us,” Arethin said.

Justinia inclined her head. 

“How?”

“You have forgotten what happened when the mark was placed upon your hand,” Justinia explained. “The memories are important. The nightmare took them, placed them in its keeping, for it could not destroy them.”

“So you want to help me get them back? How?”

“They are your memories. You will know them. I am merely here to guide you. Without a guide, you will be lost, the nightmare swallowing you.”

“Oh, Guidance, what a lovely attempt you make,” the nightmare demon oozed into life, speaking in their ears. “They will never be free of me. Lavellan's First has lead them into my domain. How can they escape a place where I rule?”

The world grew darker around them, and Justinia—or Guidance—raised her hand. A globe of light appeared, and pushed the darkness away. 

“Come,” Justinia said. “We must hurry.”

“Are we really gonna follow her?” Sera demanded.

“Do you see another way?” Arethin asked.

“Can't you—I dunno—dream up somewhere else to go?” 

“You are welcome to try,” Solas said. “In fact, I encourage it. However, there is the possibility that the nightmare demon will try to manipulate any attempt we make to change our environment.” when Sera was still not mollified, and both Bull and Cassandra looked worried, he sighed and continued “In a nightmare, what do you do?”

“I dunno,” Sera said. “Wake up?”

“And what do you do before you wake up?”

“Usually I don't realize I'm in a dream,” Bull said. “If I did, I could change it.”

“But since you cannot change it, you go along with the logic it presents, correct?”

“I suppose,” Sera groaned. 

“The Fade is a place of dreams,” Solas said. “Remember that. Dreams are both more and less complex than they appear. Tell me—what seems like the most logical choice at this moment?”

“I cannot tell that this Justinia is so different from the one I knew,” Cassandra said. “Even if she is a spirit—perhaps she is like Cole, or the spirits that help to reverse Tranquility, or your friend Wisdom, and she is a good one. She does not feel like the nightmare demon.” 

“Nor does she feel like that to me,” Solas agreed. 

“I don't see any way else we could go,” Dorian said, staring up at the huge rock walls that surrounded them. 

“I can't either,” Bull admitted. 

Sera groaned through her teeth and kicked at the ground. “This place is friggen' stupid,” she said. 

“Nightmares are supposed to be unsettling, Sera,” Dorian told her. 

“Can you think of another path we could take?” Solas asked.

Sera sighed. “No,” she admitted. “I just keep getting' dizzy, lookin' at the sky. Feels like falling.” she gave a full-body shudder. “This place is doin' my bloody head in.”

“That is normal,” Solas said. “It can be overwhelming for those not practiced.”

“So, are we all agreed?” Arethin asked. “We shall follow her?” she pointed to Justinia.

Reluctantly, everyone nodded.

The Justinia-spirit gave a gentle smile, and gestured for them to follow. “You will know your memories when you see them,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Arethin. “The demon will try to keep you from them, so you must be prepared.”

They continued on, through the path. It was carved into the massive bulk of rock that towered overhead. Half-formed pillars and towers and statues were carved into the rock as well, and strange unsettling nightmare fragments scattered the path. 

A pool of blood that did not so much as ripple when stepped in—a skeleton with glowing lights in the eyesockets—a table and chair, only the table was far too small for the chair. 

A painting with a tortured landscape that shifted when looked at. 

Spiders.

Maggots. 

Black emptiness. Blood dripping from the walls. Great towers built of bone and glass. Howling faces carved into the rock, and the rock itself didn't smell like rock, it smelled like ash, like burning flesh, like--

Solas touched Arethin's arm. She jumped, and turned to face him. 

“What?” she demanded. 

He indicated her hand, and she realized she was clenching her fist so tightly, she'd started to cut into her palm. 

“Oh,” she muttered. 

“Be calm,” he told her. “You are in more danger than most.”

“Thank you for that.”

“It is simply the truth.”

"Here,” Justinia stopped them in a small clearing. At the center of the clearing was a hovering white light.

“What's that?” Sera asked.

“Mine,” Arethin said, blinking as she realized it was true. Arethin reached out, and touched the wisp of light. 

_She walked through the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the walls looming over her. She'd never been inside a building so large before, not one that was above ground. She had gotten here ahead of everyone else, and the Temple was yet empty._

_She heard some sound coming from a room up ahead, and felt the Veil twist about her. She ran to a door, and pushed it open._

_Inside was—inside was--_

With a gasp, the memory cut off, and Arethin was back in the present again.

“What was that?” Cassandra asked, putting a hand on her arm. “Are you alright?”

Arethin nodded still trying to catch her breath. “I was—walking into the Temple,” she said. “The temple of Sacred Ashes. Before the explosion, after everyone had cleared out—do you remember?”

Cassandra nodded. “Justinia wished for Leliana and I to leave her, to greet the representatives further down the mountain,” she ducked her head. “We had only been gone for a few minutes when the temple exploded.”

“Where are the rest?” Arethin asked, looking round at Justinia.

“Not here. We must continue on,” Justinia said. “The demon will have made this as difficult as it could.”

“And why not?” the nightmare demon rumbled overhead. “You, silly little girl, wish to take back the memories which I so generously lifted from your shoulders. I could make you forget more if you wished. Take back the memories of that life you so despise.”

Arethin reached out and took Cassandra's hand, grasping it very tightly. 

“Let's keep goin',” Sera said. “Don't wanna listen to this stupid arse any more than I have to.”

“On that, we're in agreement,” Arethin said. They continued on, and Justinia lead them into the mouth of the skull of an enormous dead monster. The skull was so large that each massive tooth was longer than Bull was tall, and when they came out the other end, the path lead out into an enormous field of bones, presumably the monster's skeleton. It could not be avoided, the path not veering one way or the other.

“I wonder what this looked like, when it was alive?” Dorian murmured, staring at the huge bones. 

“Might be best not to think about that kinda thing in here,” Iron Bull advised. 

“Don't you like dragons?”

“This isn't a dragon, and I don't really want to be inside one anyway.”

In the center of the skeleton, right under its breastbone, they found another light, this one glowing blue. Arethin reached out to grasp it in her hand. 

_She opened the door. She smelled burning books and magic, and saw a shape like a man--_

_And the Divine, suspended in the air--_

_“What is this?”_

_Arethin backed away, staring. The room was crowded with people, some in Templar armor, some in Warden, none of them paying attention to anything but the Divine._

_The man turned to her, and his face was a horror, mangled and bursting with red shards._

_“Slay the elf,” he commanded, then turned away, ignoring her._

_A blade was at her throat, and she looked into the eyes of--_

A Warden--

She snapped out of the memory with a gasp.

“What did you see?” Cassandra asked, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“The Wardens,” Arethin breathed. “He got the Wardens to help—they were already under his control.” 

Everyone glanced at each other, worried.

“Are you sure?” Cassandra asked. “We had not heard--”

Arethin nodded. “It was them. I suppose he must have picked up a few at first, then more. There were Templars there, too.”

“How could he have gotten there without us realizing?” Cassandra asked, biting her lip.

“The bastard's huge, how could you not have spotted him?” Sera demanded.

“Is it possible he used an eluvian?” Dorian asked.

“No, we would have noticed that,” Arethin said. “Could he have gone through the Fade?” she asked Solas. 

“That would have been very noticeable,” Solas said. 

“Maybe there was a secret way into the Temple,” Arethin said. “It was enormous. How old was it?”

“We believe it dates back to Andraste's death,” Cassandra said. “If Corypheus had both Templar and Warden assistance, they could have told him of some way we didn't know about...” she sighed and shook her head.

“Come,” Guidance said. “We must keep moving. You have some of your memories, but not all of them.”

“Why hasn't the nightmare demon stopped us yet?” Arethin asked as Guidance lead them out of the monster skeleton. 

“Perhaps I already have,” the demon spoke again. “Perhaps you are dreaming. This is the Fade, is it not?”

“It may be waiting to attack us later,” Solas said. “Or it has less control over us here, because we are in a physical shape.”

“That's a good point,” Dorian said. “Spirits in the physical world have less control over it then they do the Fade—it stands to reason that a physical person in the Fade would be harder to control.”

“Very astute, Dorian,” the demon rumbled. “I wonder, were you this clever when Alexius caught you in his trap? When the day went back over and over and over again. When Vivienne was run through by a blade, did you think of a way out of it? How about when you _burned_?”

Dorian's mouth pressed into a hard line.

“It can be ever so hard to forget the smell of your own flesh burning, can't it?” there was an oily grin in the demon's voice, and a flicker of fire caught Arethin's eye, but when she looked there was nothing there. “There was a place beyond pain—have you ever been afraid of the absence of pain? You hadn't before.”

“Is there no possible way to speed this up?” Dorian asked. “I don't especially enjoy dealing with such tiresome company.”

“What's it talkin' about?” Sera asked him curiously.

“Nothing I particularly wish to remember.”

“But what?”

“Later, Sera,” Dorian snapped, and Sera scowled, taken aback. 

They began to be surrounded by fog, so thick that it became impossible to see.

“Be careful,” Guidance said. “The nightmare seeks to make you lost.”

“Everyone, hold on to the person in front of you so you don't lose them,” Arethin instructed. Cassandra's hand was very tight on hers, and Solas immediately took Bull's arm. 

The fog began to clear, and from the mist a forest of enormous trees began to rise up around them. It was such a change from the rocky cliffs that it was startling, and Arethin looked closer at one of them.

“These are burial trees,” Arethin breathed, staring up at them. The trunks were so tall and the leaves so large and branches outspread so wide that they blotted out the view of the sky overhead. Each tree was a different kind. Here was an oak, here a massive pine, here a weeping willow whose leaves trailed on the ground.

“Trees?” Cassandra looked at her. “I see headstones—huge stone slabs, like there were back in the Necropolis...”

“It's weird,” Bull said, reaching out to try and touch one of the trees, but pulling back at the last minute. “They keep...changing. Turns from those big ugly things the 'Vints have in their mausoleums, then there's the tombstones they have in graveyards here...”

“Obelisks,” Dorian corrected absently. “That's what we have in Tevinter. Those are the only things I can see. Black marble.”

“The Fade will react to your ideas,” Solas reminded them. “You will all see different things.”

“What are you seeing?” Bull asked.

“Sarcophagi,” Solas said. His gaze was not focused upwards, the way Arethin's and Dorian's were, but down, as if what he saw was lower to the ground. “The resting places of the dead and dreaming.”

“They have words on 'em,” Sera said. “Hey—this one's got Varric's name on it!”

They all looked, and sure enough, it did, _Varric Tethras_ in scrawling, spidery script. The words were carved deeply into the wood of the tree that Arethin saw, the marks weeping sap that was as dark as blood. 

The words refused to consolidate themselves into something that could be easily read, but one phrase was clear— _becoming my parents_ was scratched deep into the wood, oozing red sap. 

“Why is it talkin' about all this?” Sera demanded. “What does it mean?”

“Fears,” Solas said. “It lists Varric's fears. We cannot read it clearly because he is not here. Look--” he went to another one. “This one has Vivienne's name. This one...” he stopped.

“What is it?” Arethin glanced at the tree Solas was focused on. She took a breath. “Sera?” she said.

“What?”

“This one has your name.”

Sera hurried to her side, and sure enough, there it was. Upon the massive apple tree (with fruit that was almost black, so rotted on the branch it was) was carved Sera's name, and as they watched, more fears were known. These words were much clearer than Varric's tree, or Vivienne's, and became even more clear as they focused on it. 

I reached back and there were no more arrows-- 

I am not who I am. 

Something screamed overhead--

Her eyes are green and cold and she says she says--

I smell fire, I smell something burning—the whole city is aflame—all of it all of it--

The nothing.

Those last two words were carved over the rest of the others, and stayed still while the other fears changed and shifted.

“Why is it ' _the_ nothing?'” Dorian asked. “That would make it a proper noun, wouldn't it?”

“Shut up!” Sera snapped. “Stop lookin' at it!”

“What do the other ones say?” Bull began to look around. “Oh—this one is mine. That's real nice.” 

Bull's enormous oak tree was scarred and huge, and was covered in words, just as Sera's was. 

I woke up and all I could hear was screaming. 

Thick black smoke, smells like burned pork, I know what it is.

The blood drips down, I can't see, can't see--

The mind is like a book, don't you know--

The pages fell down, rearranged, words changed and paper fluttering like butterfly wings...

Madness. The word was etched deeply into the surface, the letters wobbly as if carved by an unsteady hand. 

Solas reached out and put his hand on Bull's forearm.

“This one is mine,” Dorian drew their attention to another tree, an alder with Dorian's own name on it. 

If you trust does it happen if you trust will it happen--

A body dripping with blood, the chest torn open, I will never forget the way it smelled, copper and hot metal...

I am drowning in mud there is no light and there has been no light--

The sword went through her chest and it's dripping blood and she tries to speak--

I can smell it like something sweet, I know that smell, I know it, it's me, it's me, it's sweet--

Temptation. 

“Temptation? Well, that is patent nonsense,” Dorian said, with confidence, but his bronze skin was a bit paler than usual. “These bloody obelisks are all lying, clearly. That one doesn't make any sense.”

“We should move on,” Solas said. “This is likely a way for the demon to entrap us and slow us down.”

“That one has your name on it,” Dorian said, and in spite of themselves, the others all turned to look. Solas' tree was the huge weeping willow, the branches so long and heavy they trailed on the ground. The leaves, however, were parted enough to show the trunk and the words thereupon.

Andruil and her burning yellow eyes—she opens her mouth and she says and she says--

Anaris and the black sky and Andruil and the open outstretched arms of the tree, a tree grown in blood--

A war amongst gods cracks like thunder—the world is shaking and I am too small--

I am falling—I am falling—I can taste blood and the battle will not end and I am drowning...

Dying alone. Like with the others, the strange disconnected thoughts were written over by one overriding phrase. 

Iron Bull didn't say anything, but wrapped his arm around Solas' shoulders.

“Are you afraid of Andruil?” Arethin asked, touching her cheek self-consciously, where the vallaslin of Andruil were tattooed. 

“No,” Solas said. “But I suspect I was, once.” he saw her touching her cheek and added “She has nothing to do with you.” 

Cassandra's tree, a conifer, was right next to Solas', impossible to miss. 

There is no Maker there is no Maker there is--

All my work is nothing, the world has cracked in two and I was wrong, I was wrong, I cannot stop, I was wrong--

Arethin with blood running down her chin, the mark has eaten her, glassy eyes staring up at a sky heavy with the Breach, dead, dead, dead--

Helplessness. The word was a black slash across the tree's trunk, oozing sap, and Cassandra bit her lip. 

The last tree was Arethin's. It was huge, a massive holly, reaching towards the hazy sky overhead, branches outspreading. 

What if I have misjudged—what if I am wrong--

If someone is let in they will be hurt--

It does not work why can't it work I look down at her and it's nothing but it won't work—she says she understands and there are sad jewel eyes and it will not work...

The blood is dripping there is too much there is too much--

Monster, monster, monster--

It will happen again.

Arethin stared at the words. They carved themselves into her brain, just as they were carved onto the tree. 

Cassandra squeezed her hand. 

“We should go,” Arethin said. “We should really...go.”

“This way,” Guidance instructed, and lead them out of the graveyard. Sera shuddered and looked over her shoulder, but the forest was soon obscured from view. The fog grew thin again, and they were back on the rocky path.

“This place is the worst.” Sera proclaimed. 

“I quite agree,” Dorian said. 

The path lead down to an ocean shore, where the sand was embedded with tiny fossils. The waves lapped against the beach, and when one looked out to the ocean, it seemed to never end. The water had a strange texture, oily and black, and smelled like something rotting. 

“Don't touch the water,” Guidance advised. 

“You might drown,” the demon murmured in their ears. “You're afraid of drowning, Cassandra. All that water and nothing to hang on to.”

“Quiet,” Cassandra snapped. 

“And Sera...so much water is rather like...well, rather like a great deal of empty space, isn't it?” the voice sounded like a smile with curling teeth. “Perhaps madness is something like drowning, isn't it, Iron Bull?”

“I think we should move back a little bit,” Arethin said, and they all collectively edged away from the water. 

“There,” Guidance pointed, and Arethin saw another wisp. 

“Are there any more of these?” she asked Guidance.

“Would you know if there were?” the demon murmured.

Arethin squared her shoulders, and reached for the wisp.

_The sword was at Arethin's throat, but the Warden's nose began to bleed and her hand shook on her weapon._

_The man narrowed his eyes. “Enough,” he said, and there was a ripple in the Veil, and the world went absolutely white._

_Something had gone wrong, and Arethin was shoved to the ground by some great force. Something touched her hand—the orb had fallen from Corypheus' grasp, and rolled over to her. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed it._

_Pain lanced up her arm, and Corypheus hissed in outrage. The world shook again, and she felt the ground drop out from under her._

_Someone grabbed her shoulders. “Run!” that was the Divine's voice in her ear. “Warn them!”_

_She couldn't see anything, everything was too blindingly bright, a mass of chaotic colors and sound. She dropped the orb, her hand screaming with pain, and staggered forward, the sound of roaring in her ears._

_“That way!”_

_Something pointed her to a tear in space, through which she could see a gray-blue sky. She staggered towards it, hearing something skitter behind her._

_“I don't think so,” a terrible voice boomed in her head, and something grabbed her ankles. She threw up a hasty wall of fire, cutting the something off, and continued on, her legs shaking. The light continued to grow and she could hear fighting, screaming, but nothing was clear._

_A shape appeared before her, like a massive insect, and she thrust out her hand again—the one that hurt—the colors grew to a painful brilliance, and when it died, her path was clear. She ran forward as fast as she was able, to the hole in the sky, and stumbled out, onto more solid ground._

Arethin shook her head as she came back to herself.

“Corypheus made a mistake,” she said. “The Wardens—I don't think he could control them _and_ the Templars _and_ use the orb at the same time.”

“The orb was made for elvhen hands,” Solas said. “It is quite possible that it rejected him, as eluvians reject human travelers.”

“What else did you see?” Cassandra asked.

“Not a great deal,” Arethin said, her lips pursed. “It was...confusing. A lot of colors and light, and some voices, but nothing clear.” 

“Come,” Guidance said. “The exit is not far. With your memories, you are better able to understand what happened.”

They moved on. 

The rift was up an enormous staircase, and the rock was starting to crawl with moss and strange vines. The rock was covered with carvings and illustration, but the finer details were lost, and scenes could not be distinguished.

The Veil started to feel thin and torn, like it did around most other rifts. They were getting close. At last, they came to the top of the stairs, where the rift was, but they could not reach it just yet.

A colossal spider lurked before the rift, so large that it could not have sat in Skyhold's courtyard without bumping the walls.

“I suppose it goes without saying that that is the demon,” Dorian murmured, his eyes very large. 

“Astute as ever, Dorian,” the Demon said, and the spider's pincers clicked and whirred in time with its speech. “Why leave? There really is no reason to. You won't win.”

Arethin moved forward, her staff out, but Guidance put a hand on her shoulder. 

“You cannot fight it here and still leave,” she said. “Allow me.”

Guidance reached out, her light blazing. 

“Go,” she said. 

“Can you fight that thing?” Arethin asked, her brow knitted in worry. 

“I am Guidance. I remove all that obstructs the path.” 

The demon began to laugh, and Guidance's shape was consumed in light as she went towards it. The demon engulfed her, and its shape vanished, to dissolve into a mass of darkness. The darkness and the light combated each other, flashing together like a night sky filled with lightning.

The group, with some reluctance, tried to move towards the rift, but here they were blocked yet again by another thing.

This demon was huge, roughly the shape of a person, with a head and a body and arms. That was where the similarities ended. 

Its head was strange, larger than it should have been, with fleshy growths like hair growing out of its skull. It had dozens of tiny eyes, like a bug, and when it grinned, its teeth were long and needle sharp.

“I am not so easy to outwit,” it said, and its voice was that of the demons'. “Do you wish to leave this place? Then you must do so through me.”

The light overhead cracked like lightning, and a black fluid began to drip from the demon's mouth. 

“Nightmares end when you wake up,” Arethin said. “And we are about to. You have no power over us.” 

“No?”

Arethin was covered in blood, and she recoiled, trying to scrub it off her hands, but she couldn't, it spread, and there was more and more--

She was standing in a pool of blood, it spread out from her feet, she could smell it, blood dripping everywhere--

It will happen again, again, again, again--

She heard a scream, but couldn't focus, not with so much blood--

Again, again, again--

Her head jerked up, and she met the eyes of the nightmare demon. 

Again, again, again--

It wasn't real. It was the demon. She put one foot forward—almost slipped and fell in the blood—and then another. 

She looked over to see her companions. 

Sera covered her face, murmuring to herself over and over again. Dorian's hands were in his hair, his eyes wide and fever-bright, and his lips mouthing words to the Chant. Bull stared down at his hands, shaking. Solas' head was in his hands, and he stood very still. Cassandra's chest heaved and her eyes were glassy and unfocused.

She could only guess what they were all seeing.

“Stop it,” she told the demon, her voice trembling. “Leave them alone!”

“And therein is your fear,” the demon smirked. “It's happening again, and it's your fault.”

“No it isn't!” she choked on her words, blood dribbling from her lips. “It's yours! You're doing it!” 

“But of course. You did not kill your Elladen. You merely failed to save him, did you not?”

She cast about, looking at her companions. She grabbed Cassandra's arms.

“Cassandra?” she shook the other woman. “Can you hear me?”

Cassandra shook her head. 

“Stop it,” she said. “Leave me alone, demon—do not mimic her voice!”

“It's not the demon!” Arethin pleaded. “It's me!”

Overhead, the sky churned and boiled with the shadows and the light. Bull looked up, and Arethin realized he must still be able to see the things around them, even if the others couldn't. She went to him.

“Bull--”

“Don't,” he put a hand out. “They said it would happen. I'm Tal-vashoth. It would always happen.”

“No it wouldn't!” blood poured from her hands, and she could taste it in her mouth. “Bull, you need to help me!”

“I'll hurt you.”

“Hurt that thing!” she pointed at the demon. “If you want to hurt something, hurt it!”

He shook his head and she moaned, clenching her hands and feeling the blood well up. Though he could see her, evidently that wouldn't be enough to break from the spell. 

She grabbed Solas' hands.

“Can you hear me?” she demanded. “Can you wake up?”

He said nothing, his eyes not focusing on her. She slapped him, but it didn't help. Cursing, she looked around—none of her other companions seemed to be paying any attention to their surroundings.

“Can any of you hear me?” she shouted.

“Stop it!” Cassandra exclaimed, covering her ears. 

“Come on,” she urged. “Sera—Sera,” she went over to Sera, who continued to mumble to herself. “Sera, you hate the Fade. Come on, wake up!” when Sera didn't respond, she turned to Dorian. “Come on—you can't let something like a—a nightmare demon get to you, right?” 

Nothing. 

“Isn't this rather familiar, Mediator?” the demon purred in her ear. “It's familiar for them, too.”

“Stop it,” she hissed, bringing her hands to her ears. 

“Cassandra—drowning and lost,” the demon laughed. “Everything in her life has been uprooted and destroyed. Even her beloved Arethin is someone she never would have cared about before now.”

“Not true,” Cassandra mumbled, voice choked. “Wrong. It's wrong.”

“Cassandra--” Arethin grabbed her hands, but Cassandra still paid her no attention. The demon continued.

“Sera, stranded in empty nothing.”

Sera whimpered as if she could hear the demon, and Arethin looked round to see if she might have shaken the spell, but her eyes were unfocused and darting. 

“She's always running, you see, running from everything before it can get to her. An arrow, loosed. She tells people she's not what they want before they can tell her. But that's so _lonely_ ,” the demon purred. “So full of nothing.”

The demon moved, put one of its long, taloned hands on Iron Bull's shoulder. 

“The Iron Bull, lost in a maze of his own. He thinks in loops, you see, trying to ensure he can stop madness seeping in, as if he can't be trusted with his own mind.” the demon snickered. 

Bull looked at the demon, his eye huge, but said nothing. 

“He doesn't trust the world he sees.” the demon shook its head and moved away, to circle Dorian.

“Dorian—he's a story all his own, drenched in the filth and decay of a terrible empire. It would be so easy to just...let go.” 

Dorian continued to mumble the Chant, voice growing louder, and the demon seemed only to take amusement from this. 

“And if that wasn't enough...even fire cannot cleanse you, can it?” the demon leaned to whisper in Dorian's ear. “For you have walked through fire, and came out not one bit purer.”

It moved away from Dorian, and approached Solas.

“And Solas...his fears are of loneliness, blood and fields of snow, an endlessness with nothing in it but him.” the demon grinned. “Clever, clever Fen'harel. But not clever enough.” finally, it moved back from her companions, and towards her again.

“And _you_ ,” it said at last. “What a pleasure you've been. First your memories—steeped in blood and fear, and now...I wonder...I can feel the fears of others through you,” the demon reached over, long claw just brushing her chin. “Ah, yes.” that grin exposed needle-sharp teeth. “I see everything through you. I wonder—how much fear I could take from the world...if you just let me inside?”

“No,” she gasped. “Never.”

“Perhaps not you, then,” the demon turned away from her. “Perhaps one of the others...”

She shook her head.

“How long would it take them to promise me anything, to make the horror stop?” it reached over and took Dorian's chin in it's hand. Dorian closed his eyes. 

“Enough. Wake up.” someone put their hand on her shoulder, and Guidance's white light burned the fear from her mind. 

The demon was thrown back, hot white light forcing it away, and the sky overhead crackled with more light than darkness now.

Her companions blinked and shook themselves, looking around.

“What's going on?” Sera asked. “Where—where--”

“Who cares about where, get your arrows in that thing!” Arethin demanded, pointing at the demon. 

Sera shook her head. “Right. Arrows. Yeah.”

“Arethin!” Cassandra grasped her arm. “You are—you are alright?”

“Well, not while that thing is still around!” 

They attacked the demon. Arethin, Solas and Dorian stayed back and flung spells at it, white Cassandra and Bull charged forward. 

Sera sunk several arrows into the thing's head, but it was the spells that really did the damage. 

Cassandra and Bull were both shoved back, but a stray firespell by Dorian distracted the beast enough to let them get close again and hack at the thing.

Guidance's light continued to burn, gradually forcing the demon back. At last, they were almost at the threshold of the rift.

“Run,” Guidance hissed. “I will make it stay here.”

“But--”

“ _Run_!”

She pointed to the rift, and Arethin nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

“Do not thank me until you have run the path.”

“There—run!” Arethin said, and they ran for the portal.

Snakes and spiders appeared at their heels, and blood drenched Arethin's hands again. Sera stumbled and Dorian grabbed her arm. 

Finally, they reached the rift and tumbled through it, falling out into the courtyard on the other side.


	29. The Lotus Eater Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dealing with the fallout from the demon

Arethin looked around quickly to make sure everyone had gotten through, then slammed the portal shut. Panting, she rested heavily on her staff. 

“Where..” she looked around. They'd come out in the same courtyard where they'd found Erimond and Clarel, but now no one except Alliance soldiers was here. 

“Is everyone alright?” she called.

“'m fine,” Sera waved a hand. She very pale, so pale that there was a green tinge around her lips. “'m fine.”

“Provided we don't start the next Blight, I am fine as well,” Dorian said. He was sweating, his hair damp and his skin ashen.

“Physically, I am well,” Solas said. He cast a concerned look to Iron Bull, who rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Boss, don't ever drag me through something like that again.” Bull said. He looked shaken, and like Sera, he was paler than usual.

“I don't intend to.” Arethin said. “Cassandra?”

Cassanda leaned heavily on her sword. “I am—I am alright,” she said. She reached over and cradled Arethin's face in her hand. “What about you?” 

Arethin looked down at her hands. “I'm alright,” she said. There was no more blood. “Come on.” 

Leliana and Barris approached her, but the rest of the troops hung back, looking nervous.

“You're back!” Leliana exclaimed. “Where did you go? We saw you fall, and then—we didn't see you anymore.”

“It's a...very long story,” Arethin said. “Where is everyone?”

“Erimond died,” Leliana explained. “Someone caught him with an arrow.” she smirked and ducked her head, then sobered. “Most of the Wardens died when Erimond did,” she shook her head. 

“Why?” 

“We think his blood magic was tied to their lives, not just their minds,” Barris said. “But we don't know for sure.”

Arethin nodded. “Most?”

“One or two remain alive—Commander Surana says that she will do something about them.”

“Is Surana alright?” Arethin asked, remembering that Corypheus' appearance might have hurt her as well.

“She is well,” Leliana said. “When Corypheus left, so did his influence.”

“Fine, good,” she ran a hand over her head. “Is there any more to do here?”

Leliana and Barris exchanged a look. 

“Corypheus no longer has his Wardens,” Leliana said. “But we could not kill him or the dragon.”

“Did we at least find out why the Wardens returned here?” Cassandra asked, wiping sweat-damp hair out of her eyes. “What Corypheus planned to do with them?”

“They were going to go to the Deep Roads,” Leliana said, her brow furrowed. “That was what Erimond promised—that he would help them find the Archdemon causing the Calling, and they would slay it.”

“And they believed him?” Arethin asked. 

“It is possible that Corypheus was weakening them,” Leliana said. “And then Erimond simply gave them a suggestion that allowed him to take them over completely.”

“Is there anything else we can do?”

Leliana shook her head. “We can only keep the other Wardens away from Corypheus, and perhaps prevent this in the future.”

They picked through the remains of Adamant. There was very little to find, even with so many Wardens having lived there. There were no more Warden survivors—they had all died, in some way or another. The one or two who had outlived the battle, with the exception of Surana, died from internal hemorrhages, the sign of ill-practiced blood magic. Eventually, they began the return journey to Skyhold. They needed to traverse the desert again to return to an eluvian, so it would take some time.

Arethin had no idea what would happen if a new Blight were to begin. She could barely think of it. As it was, she was having a hard time thinking of much besides the next day at a time, and the others who had come with her to the Fade were not in a much better position. The journey had affected all of them, though each in different ways.

Arethin noticed it first with Cassandra. She was far more tactile than usual, taking every excuse to touch Arethin, reaching for her hands or touching her cheek. 

The first night they were on the return journey to the eluvian, they shared a tent, as they usually did. Cassandra clung closely, holding Arethin as if she were afraid she would vanish. 

Arethin, for her part, didn't know how to feel. She wanted Cassandra close as well, but thoughts of blood and mortal wounds kept her awake long into the night, far past the point of sleep.

The next morning, Sera was awake before anyone else, which was a surprise. She had dark shadows under her eyes and was very pale.

“Are you alright?” Arethin asked her when she saw her, concerned.

Sera gave a jerky nod. “Couldn't sleep,” she muttered.

“I don't blame you,” Dorian muttered. He too was pale, looking a bit wilted and tired. 

Arethin looked from Dorian to Sera.

“Is something wrong?”

“I dunno,” Sera grumbled. “That...demon...thing?”

“Well, it's gone now, so don't worry about it so much.”

Sera just gave her a baleful glare out from under the fringe of her bangs.

“I wasn't a big fan of it either,” Bull said. He didn't look very rested either. None of them did, but Sera and Dorian looked the worst. Solas still looked half-asleep, and had wrapped his arm around Bull's. Unusual, for someone who was so indisposed to displays of affection.

The strange habits of her companions continued throughout the day. Solas clung to Bull almost constantly, and Bull, Sera and Dorian were unusually quiet. Cassandra stuck close by Arethin's side.

Arethin chalked it up to the Fade. It made sense that they all had trouble shaking that off. 

The worrying trends continued, however. Sera began to have screaming nightmares. The first time she had one it woke the rest of them up, and it was only Bull who could get her to calm down after he'd woken her up. 

Dorian ate very sparingly, even after several hard days' ride. Solas did not seem to want to be by himself, and clung to Bull or Arethin's side constantly. Bull, on the other hand, was still quiet and withdrawn, and unusually grim. He and Solas had semi-frequent arguments, some whispered and some not, that were resolved quickly but still happened.

Arethin herself had a hard time shaking the nightmares. She swore she caught the smell of blood every once in a while, and had scrubbed her hands raw the first time she could clean herself up. 

Cassandra was worried when she saw that.

“What did you do?” she asked, taking Arethin's hands. She rubbed her thumbs soothingly over the raw patches of skin that had developed on Arethin's knuckles, and Arethin sighed.

“It's fine,” Arethin assured her. “I didn't mean to. I just...” 

“We will be back at Skyhold soon,” Cassandra said, squeezing Arethin's hand. “Maker, I never thought I would wish for those eluvians...”

Arethin chuckled. “The Wardens definitely picked a spot that's out of the way,” she said. She looked at Cassandra. “What did you see? In the nightmare?”

“I was drowning,” Cassandra said. “Just...water, everywhere. A weight was dragging me down, and I could not let go of it.”

“You could hear me when I tried to snap you out of it,” she pointed out.

Cassandra nodded. “I could. But I—I was convinced you were dead, but I could not remember when it had happened.” she shook her head, giving a shudder. “I could see images of your death in my head, but I could not recall when, or how, or why. I just knew that it was, and when you called me, it could not be you.”

Arethin shuddered. “That thing was horrible,” she said. “I hope the others are alright. None of them have looked that well lately.”

“I am sure they will be fine,” Cassandra said, her brow knit. “Why did the headstone say 'monster?'” she asked.

Arethin froze. 

“What?”

“In the Fade. The headstones all said so many things, but yours...why 'monster?'”

Arethin got to her feet. “Why do you want to know?”

“I have been thinking about what all of them said.”

Arethin shrugged. “Aren't you afraid of monsters?”

“Arethin.”

She sighed and sat back down. “When I—when I killed the Templars,” she said, her voice soft. “I'd never killed anyone before then.” she closed her eyes. “Never. I'd scared many away, injured quite a few, but these—I just--” she cut herself off. 

“I am sorry,” Casssandra murmured. “One's first kill is not an easy one.”

“No.” 

Cassandra reached out and took her hand.

“I couldn't be the Clan's First,” Arethin said. “Not anymore. Not after that.”

“Surely they did not hold it against you--”

“No. They didn't. No one blamed me. Most of them even thought I did the right thing. But _I_ blamed me.”

“Why?”

Cassandra's question was spoken so honestly that Arethin stared at her.

“Why should I not?” Arethin asked. “I--” she looked away. “How could I have done that?” she asked. 

“You were protecting your people,” Cassandra reminded her.

“I know,” Arethin murmured. “But I don't...” she turned away.

“What is it?” Cassandra touched Arethin's hand again.

“I'm a spirit healer,” she admitted, and Cassandra stared at her, eyes wide. “I have been ever since my magic manifested. I know—well, most of the schools of healing, beyond spirit healing. The only one I've never used is blood magic healing.”

“But you've never--”

“I know,” she snapped. “I know.” she couldn't meet Cassandra's eyes. “After that—I couldn't. I couldn't heal anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know. Every time I tried to heal something more than a paper cut something just—stopped. I couldn't. Deshanna says it's just—in my mind. But I...” she trailed off.

“I'm sorry,” Cassandra murmured, and pulled her close. “I can't know what that is like. But I am sorry that it ever happened.”

Arethin leaned her head on Cassandra's shoulder. “Me too.”


	30. A Brilliant Shade Of Purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this week, we have a bit of plot, and some more about cole, and varric prefers the paragon solution

The first thing Arethin did when she returned to Skyhold was go to bed and not get up again until the next day. Everyone else did much the same, Cassandra retreating to Arethin's bed and holding her close, Dorian locating his dwarven paramour and the two of them disappearing into Dorian's rooms, Sera dragging Dagna to her little tavern corner, and Iron Bull and Solas vanishing into some secluded corner of Skyhold. 

When Arethin and Cassandra finally got up again, they had to get to another meeting. No one was particularly happy about it.

“With what happened with the Orlesian Wardens, we need to make sure it does not happen to the other Wardens,” Arethin said.

Surana nodded. “As far as I can tell, Corypheus was specifically targeting them,” she said. “The other Wardens have been hearing it, but everyone I know has been trying to ignore it or find out what's been going on.”

“Why would he target a specific group?” Leliana asked.

“It is possible he was accounting for the limitations of time and geography,” Solas said. “If there is something he needs and it is in Orlais, then it would make sense to target Orlesian Wardens.”

“The Venatori activity has all been in the south,' Josephine said. “Concentrated in ruins in particular, further south as time goes on.”

“Is it possible he's looking for something specific?” Arethin asked. 

“Many elvhen ruins hold unique and powerful artifacts,” Solas said. “It is possible he is looking for something like the orb.”

“Or a method to gain control of the eluvian network,” Morrigan pointed out. 

“Not likely,” Arethin said. “We'd know about it.”

“What if it was a part of the network that was isolated?” Felassan suggested, exchanging a look with Solas. “A lot of the mirrors were damaged over the years, and any eluvians would be an advantage for him.”

“We're securing all the mirrors we can find,” Merrill said. “If it's eluvians he's after, he hasn't found the same ones we have.” 

“He appears to be the most focused on the southern parts of Thedas,” Leliana said, indicating a map that showed all the Venatori activity so far. “Is there anything important in this area that he could be using?”

Solas and Felassan bent over the map.

“Isn't there a temple to Mythal around...here?” Felassan pointed to a spot in the Korcari Wilds. 

“Perhaps—however I would have to find an accurate map of Elvhenan to determine for sure,” Solas said, his brow furrowed. “Everything has changed so much...”

“I don't think there used to be a forest here,” Felassan agreed.

“There might be something here he could use,” Solas said. “Of course, there are many other ruins to the west and north that he could investigate as well. Elvhenan went as far north as Tevinter—however most ruins would not be intact enough to plunder after all this time.”

“We should focus on the Venatori activity,” Arethin decided. “It's something specific.”

“I agree,” Josephine said. 

“In the meantime, we should work upon improving our forces,” Cassandra said. “We cannot confront Corypheus unless our army matches his.”

“We also need to examine the issue of the Veil,” Solas said. “It is entirely likely Corypheus may try to damage it again. Too much damage from an unpracticed hand will lead to ruin.”

“And the only way to prevent that is to...?” Arethin prompted.

Solas sighed. “We cannot repair it at this stage,” he said. “Anything you do will be temporary. It has gone thousands of years with no maintenance.”

“Is there truly no salvaging it?” Cassandra asked, worried. “Would removing it entirely not be disastrous?”

“The Veil is artificial, a weapon,” Felassan said. “It was never meant to be there that long.”

“The Fade seems to cause many of our problems,” Barris said. “What would happen if it were to die, somehow? Would all mages become Tranquil?” the question had been raised before, but there had been no explanation given in detail.

“All _people_ would become Tranquil,” Solas said. “Even those with the barest connection to the Fade. The absolute best-case scenario would be the dwarven situation—however I am not sure how it came to pass.”

“What do you mean?” Vhelan asked, raising her eyebrows.

“In the time of Elvhenan, dwarves dreamed and used magic as the elvhen did,” Solas explained. 

Vhelan blinked. “We've—well, we've been researching some of the older thaigs, but...”

“I believe it is possible that the dwarven kingdom used some modified version of the Veil upon their own people, possibly to try and prevent the Blight or circumventing some other problem. However, that is only the best possible outcome.”

“And the worst?” Arethin asked.

“The Fade is connected to the mind of every creature that uses magic. If the Fade is cut off entirely, there is little telling the amount of damage it would do. It could destroy the world entirely. Either way, I would not suggest it.”

Arethin nodded. “Exactly. So we must remove it.”

Everyone around the table stared at her, even Felassan, who looked from her to Solas and back again.

“Do you know what you are doing?' Felassan asked.

“No,” Arethin said. “But I know that the world will suffer if it is still in place.”

“We cannot know that for certain,” Bann Teagan exclaimed. He glanced at Solas. “Excuse me, but the Dalish parties have made clear that the words of...well, Ser Solas, they make it known that you cannot be trusted entirely.” 

Yara snorted. 

“No, but we do know that the Veil is artificial,” Arethin said. “We have studied it at length--”

“The Arcanist came to this conclusion as well,” Vhelan said. 

“If it is indeed artificial, it stands to reason we could repair it,” Vivienne pointed out. 

“No,” Solas said. “You could not.”

“Why?” 

“I am the one who created it, and am the only one who would theoretically be able to repair it. I do not wish to do this, nor do I advise it.”

“And when I close rifts, it feels—very wrong,” Arethin said. “Opening rifts is very easy, but closing them is difficult. Like I'm bending something to fit a shape it really should not.”

“Building things is far more difficult than destroying them,” Vivienne pointed out. “To heal is more difficult than to inflict harm.”

"And there is, of course, the reason it was created in the first place,” Bann Teagan said. “Who is to say that the threat it was built to stop simply wouldn't spring up again?”

“That is entirely likely,” Solas said. “But regardless, as it is, the Veil is causing more problems than it solves.”

“How so?” Vivienne asked, an eyebrows raised in a skeptical manner. “It is the one thing that stands between us and demons. In places where the Veil is thin, there are more attacks, more magic gone wrong.”

“That is precisely because of Veil damage,” Solas argued. “Consider the difference between a river that is dammed effectively, and a river with a damaged and rotting dam. Regardless of the reason the river was dammed in the first place, the dam still causes problems.”

“Truthfully, even if we needed the Veil, I don't think this one can stand up much longer,” Arethin said. “With the Breach and the rifts—we can either do something about it now, or let it go until it breaks, which I do not much fancy doing.”

Most everyone looked displeased, but it was a valid point. If one had a broken chair, one got a new chair or fixed it, not simply let it go on that way.

“So, how would we even go about doing it?” Arethin asked Solas.

“It would be difficult—constructing it was an extremely long and lengthy process. Before anything else, we would need to reach the Golden City.”

Cassandra, Leliana and Barris gasped and looked at each other.

“It is not the seat of the Maker,” Solas said, his tone dry. “It is an Elvhen city, a mirror of Arlathan. It is the center of the Veil, where the spell was begun.”

“What?” Leliana breathed. 

Solas shrugged. “Wherever your Maker resides, it is not in the Black City.”

“But--” Leliana looked from Felassan to Solas, neither of them having any words of comfort. 

Cassandra's face fell, and Arethin felt the need to interject. 

“The Fade already isn't as you thought it was,” she said. “Does this truly make things so different?”

“It seems as if we have...repurposed many things originally made by you and your people,” Josephine said to Solas, her tone painfully polite.

“That was bound to happen when the Tevinters came and stole everything that wasn't nailed down,” Felassan pointed out. 

“Our people's empire left a...vivid mark on the world,” Solas said. “It is only reasonable that our culture affected others, even human ones.” 

“So I suppose this means that the Dalish have a better handle on the Fade than non-Dalish?” Arethin couldn't help pointing out, raising her eyebrows. 

Solas and Felassan exchanged a look, Felassan's expression longsuffering, Solas' carefully neutral.

“I suppose,” Felassan grumbled.

“If the culture of our people affected yours, it is not outside the realms of possibility that some cultures might have absorbed more than others,” Solas admitted.

“Excellent,” Arethin smiled. “But we do have one more problem—if we were to do this, how exactly would we even get to the Black City?'

“I am uncertain. However, Corypheus seeks to reach it, so we could simply follow what he is attempting to do.”

“This is all speculation,” Leliana said. “Where the Veil is concerned, we have very little evidence to rely upon.”

“Except for the evidence give to you by the one who created it,” Solas said quietly.

“Ah—yes. Except that.”

“So, in the interests of concrete fact, we must focus on what we know, and what we know is that Corypheus also has a vested interest in damaging it, and according to you, Solas, that is more of a problem than the Veil collapsing on its own.” Arethin said. “And the Venatori are very interested in the Wilds.”

“And where the Venatori are, the Qunari will probably be as well,” Barris pointed out.

“We must focus on them, for now,” Arethin decided. “And try to find where they are and what they are doing.”

Later, after the meeting was over, Solas and Bull were alone together. “I'm not really sure how I feel about that whole 'taking down the Veil' thing,” Bull admitted to Solas.

“People have come to see the Veil as a good thing and the Fade as bad,” Solas said. “This is not accurate. The Veil was never meant to be permanent.”

"And taking it down wouldn't let demons kill everyone?”

“Not removing it will do more damage in the long run. As it is, the Veil already damaged the world.”

“Hm,” Bull rumbled, not convinced. “Then what was it like before the Veil?”

“More real,” Solas explained. “The world now is—fog and spun glass. Like a dream.”

“It doesn't feel much like that.”

“You have always been here. You would be unable to tell. If all you had seen your entire life was shadows, how would you know they were only shadows?”

“Maybe,” Bull said. “Still not sure how I feel about it.”

“It remaining will only do more damage,” Solas said. “And in any case—the Veil is magic, an artificial spell imposed on the world. No matter what is done, magic will affect everything.”

Bull sighed. “Great,” he said. He paused, thinking about something that had been weighing heavily on him, but hadn't wanted to bring up before now. “What did you see?” Bull asked. “When the nightmare got you?”

Solas considered. “A snowy wasteland,” he said. “There was nothing there. I was alone.” 

“And you couldn't hear or see the rest of us.”

“No. I could hear nothing but the wind. I knew it was a nightmare, but the demon was trying very hard to confuse what I saw.”

“You couldn't break out of it.”

“No.” Solas didn't say anything else, and looked away. 

Bull let out a breath. “I was in—a maze. The walls were so high I couldn't see anything past them. I knew—I knew something was wrong, but I didn't—nothing made sense. I'd turn one way and then not know where I was.”

“Interesting...” Solas murmured.

“I could see everyone, though, that was the weird part,” he continued. “I knew where everyone was, but—the walls were still in the way. Lavellan asked me to help, and I understood, but I also knew—I didn't know what she said.”

“Your fear was madness,” Solas said. “So the demon altered your perceptions to where nothing made sense.”

They both were quiet for several moments. 

“Pawn to E4,” Solas said. 

“Can't we get a real board?” Bull asked. “Seriously. It's like you have an aversion to real ones.”

“This is more distracting,” Solas pointed out. “Unless you are worried I will win again...?”

Bull chuckled. “Nah. 'Course not.”

It was some days later when Arethin came to Cole and Solas arguing in Solas' office.

She was surprised, as normally neither of them so much as raised their voices. She had a difficult time following the argument, until Cole spotted her and dragged her into the conflict.

“So—you want someone to make sure you can't be controlled by another mage?” Arethin asked, after Cole explained his predicament.

Cole nodded. 

“Well—I'm sure we can manage that,” Arethin said, looking at Solas. “Can't we?”

“There are ways to protect spirits from the spells of mages,” Solas said. “Ones that do not involve binding.”

“What would we need to do?”

“There are certain amulets that can help,” Solas said. “The Grand Enchanter or Vivienne might know of where to find one.”

They located an amulet, and it was delivered to them in a week's time. Arethin, upon receiving the amulet, rounded up both Cole and Solas to see what could be done.

Solas examined the amulet, gave a nod of approval. “It only needs to be activated,” he said. 

Cole took the amulet, placed it around his neck, and Solas put his hand out to charge it with a spell. The air smelled strongly of lightning for a moment, then the spell snapped, and both Cole and Solas stumbled away from each other, Cole letting out a tiny cry of dismay.

Varric stuck his head in the office, apparently drawn by the noise.

“What are you doing to the kid?” Varric demanded.

“Cole is worried that he might be able to be controlled by a mage,” Arethin explained. “This amulet should help...” she furrowed her brow and glanced at Solas.

Solas shook his head. “Something is interfering,” he said.

“It doesn't work because he's too human for it to work,” Varric insisted. 

Solas shook his head. “No—that is not how spirits take bodies,” he said. “You cannot materialize a body from thin air.”

“Well he hasn't possessed anyone--”

“That is not what I speak of.”

“Then what, exactly?” 

Solas sighed. “If a spirit cannot possess a body, then one must be created for them,” he explained. He paused. “It is possible, with the amount of Veil damage and magical instability present in the Spire, that Cole might have created a body by accident...but that would be...less than likely.”

“What do you mean, a body has to be created?” Varric asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Born,” Cole says. “Someone takes the spirit, and the body is born. It doesn't happen anymore though,” he said sadly.

Solas nodded. “That is correct. That's why I find it highly unlikely that you are too human for a protection spell to work—how would you have created a body?”

Cole shrugged. “Bodies are made up of small pieces,” he said. “But I don't know how you'd fit them together. Like a puzzle too big to finish.”

“Wait a moment,” Arethin said. “How are spirits born?”

“How is that important?” Varric asked.

“Because I wish to know.”

“In Elvhenan, there were certain people whose spirits originally formed in the Fade,” Solas said. “A spirit of Curiosity or Wisdom or Pride might wish a body, for one reason or another, but instead of possessing a body, they would ask someone if they could be born through them.” 

“So instead of possessing an adult, you possess a body that has not been born yet?”

Solas inclined his head.

Varric made a revolted grimace. “That's even worse!” he said. 

“Not particularly,” Solas said. “The unborn child would have no spirit already inside of it. It is the same process any child is born, only with slightly more intent. In any case, that clearly did not happen to Cole.” 

“No, it didn't,” Cole said. 

“I would argue that the Veil damage in the Spire made it possible,” Arethin said. “A tear a bit too wide allowed more than a spirit alone to enter the physical world, just as it did around the Breach.”

“Perhaps, but that does not fix the problem,” Solas said. 

“Doesn't it?” Varric said. “If he's too human for the amulet to work, that means he's too human to get bound by a mage.”

“You cannot be certain of that,” Solas said. “And it's possible that it is unhealthy to remain in such an in-between stage, neither physical nor spirit.” 

Cole shook his head. “It's...tangled,” he said. “Something's...stopping me.”

“Can you find the point of the intrusion?”

Cole ducked his head. “Somewhere...there,” he pointed to a spot just over Arethin's shoulder. 

“Could you find it on a map?”

Cole nodded.

The area that Cole had indicated was somewhere in the Hinterlands, a little ways outside of Redcliffe village. 

The four of them traveled there, using a local Dalish eluvian that had been moved there once it was established how strategically valuable the area was. Only Cole, Arethin, Solas and Varric went, because Cole wanted to solve the problem as soon as possible.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Arethin asked when they left the eluvian. 

“I don't know,” Cole admitted. “I can—feel it. I don't know what it is. This way.” he lead them down the path. 

“Are you sure you know what you're looking for?” Arethin asked.

“I'll know what it is when I see it,” he explained. 

They came across two men, talking quietly with each other before a large statue.

Cole balled his hands into fists, back stiffening.

One of the men left, and Cole bared his teeth. “ _You_ ,” he snarled, and before anyone could blink, he had his blade at the man's throat. “You killed me.”

“I don't—I don't even know you!” the man protested.

“You forgot!” Cole snapped. “You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire, and you forgot, and I died in the dark!”

“The Spire--?”

“Cole, stop,” Solas reached Cole and put a hand on his arm. Cole startled, and let the man go. The man ran, but before Cole could give chase, Varric moved in front of him.

“Just take it easy, kid,” Varric said.

“He killed me!” Cole was more vehement than Arethin could remember him being, his blue eyes wide and bright. “That's why it doesn't work—he killed me, and I have to kill him back!”

“Wait,” Arethin said. “That does not make sense.”

“Cole, that man cannot have killed you,” Solas said, his brow furrowed. “You are a spirit—you have not possessed a body.”

“A broken body,” Cole murmured, shoulders slumping. “Bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dark. A captured apostate. They threw him into the dungeon at the Spire. They forgot about him, and he starved to death.” Cole took a deep, shuddering breath. “I came through to help—but I—couldn't. So I became him. Cole.”

“This does not explain why that man's interfering with the spell,” Arethin said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “Does it?”

“It is possible that the memories of the original Cole are interfering with the Cole we know,” Solas said. 

“How?”

“At this point, I am...less than certain,” Solas admitted.

“Then what do we do?”

“I need to kill him,” Cole insisted.

“No,” Solas said. “You should not.”

“How about we try to end the day with as few people getting killed as possible, okay, kid?” Varric said. “Just for a change of pace.”

“It is possible that crossing through the Veil in the way you did—damaged you in some way,” Solas told Cole. “Killing this man would further twist you away from your purpose, and change you further.”

“He already changed,” Varric insisted. “He's more human!”

“Imitating an already existing human is not the same as being human,” Solas said. “A spirit in the Fade might take on the memories of an existing mirror in the physical world but this...is different.”

Arethin folded her arms. "Alright," she said. "Cole, what do you think we should do, apart from kill him?"

Cole shook his head. “I don't know,” he said. “He killed Cole. I remember it. He could hurt other people, too.”

“True enough,” Solas said quietly. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you wish to return to being in the state of more of a spirit, forgiving him and forgetting the harm he inflicted would be a good step,” he said. 

“You can't just forget something like that!” Varric protested.

“You or I could not. A spirit could. That is part of the purpose of a physical body—to maintain memories.”

“And spirits don't hurt because they forget,” Cole nodded. 

“Look—as far as I can tell, kid, you're human, through and through,” Varric said. “Work through your anger, you can't just—forget it.” 

“Cole, this is something you have to decide for yourself,” Arethin said. “I'd say—let the man have it. He killed a child. But...” she sighed and looked away. “I can also tell you that revenge won't solve your problem.”

Cole looked at her, blue eyes wide. He considered. 

“I—I want him to remember,” he said. “But I'm supposed to take the hurt away. But what if he hurts more people because he can't remember what hurting was like?” Cole shook his head. “I don't—I don't know what I want,” he admitted. 

Everyone stood and looked at each other. 

“Look, you need to get through it,” Varric said at length, rubbing the back of his neck. 'I'm not really an expert or anything, but you seem way more like a person than a spirit.”

“Spirits _are_ people,” Solas said, his voice terse. 

“Fine, way more like a human, then.”

“Or he is a spirit that mistakenly crossed the Veil, and attempting to become more human without the true ability to will only make things worse.” 

“It would be confusing,” Cole agreed. 

“That is one problem, yes,” Solas said. 

They all looked at Cole again, who seemed startled by their scrutiny. 

“I like being like I am,” he said. “I don't know what that is, exactly—in between.”

“One cannot remain in between forever,” Solas pointed out.

Cole nodded. “I know.” he looked towards where the Templar had fled to. “I think—we should find him,” he said, blue eyes narrowed.

“Sure,” Varric said. “But not to kill him. We do that enough already.”

Cole blinked at Varric, looking confused, but Varric just sighed.

“Come on,” Varric said. “Let's find that Templar.”

The Templar had retreated to the forest, to a tiny shack that was presumably where he lived. 

Arethin banged on the door. 

“I didn't do it!” the Templar shouted. “I—it was a mistake!”

Arethin rolled her eyes and kicked the door in. “Cole?” she said, offering for him to go first. 

The Templar's shack was squalid and dark, and the Templar himself cowered against the far wall.

“I—I'm sorry,” the Templar said, looking up at them. “I didn't—I didn't know.”

Arethin's lip curled, and Solas put a hand on her shoulder. 

“You _knew_ ,” Cole hissed, eyes narrowed. “You forgot, and no one else knew, and when they found him—when they found me—they made it go away.”

“I didn't—I didn't mean to,” the Templar pleaded. “I—I'm sorry--”

“Look at him,” Varric gestured to the shack around them. “He's half-dead already. You can't really do much past this, kid.” 

“You forgot because—it wasn't important,” Cole scowled. “He wasn't important enough to remember.” Cole frowned, his stormy expression not fading. “If I can make people forget, I can make them remember. And he will _remember_.”

The Templar sunk to his knees. “Sorry—sorry—sorry--” he murmured over and over again, eyes overflowing with tears.

“There are lots of ways to help people,” Cole said, looking down at the Templar. “If he forgot, he would have hurt people. Now he remembers. Now he won't.” 

“I suppose that's one way to do it,” Varric said, looking shaken. 

“I think—I think it's better now,” Cole said. “I feel—it isn't bruising or tearing anymore. I don't know how I feel. It's better.”

They left the shack. 

“I will be alright, Solas," Cole said as they returned to the eluvian, answering a question Solas never asked, but Solas didn't seem to mind. 

Solas' brow knitted in concern. “If you are certain...”

“I am. I changed, but not how you or Varric wanted.”

“Hey--” Varric started, but Cole shook his head. 

“It's alright,” he promised. “Things change. I can be human. I don't know if I am. Maybe I'll try it.” 

“It might hurt you to remain in-between,” Solas reminded him.

“I'm not in between. I'm like you—in both places,” Cole gave Solas a tiny smile. “It's different. I can be both. I just have to remember how.” 

Solas blinked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “I have never seen that before,” he said.

“I know. Lots of things are different now.”


	31. The Moon Is Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some more time with viv and dorian

Vivienne would not have come to Arethin at all, except that Dorian was worried for her. 

“She won't listen to me,” he insisted. “She's making herself sick, fretting over Bastien, but she won't listen to anything I have to say on the subject.”

“Why not?” Arethin asked. “You're friends, are you not?'

“Yes, of course,” Dorian waved a hand. “But she...” he sighed. “She believes I am...over-sentimental. I believe she is too harsh. She will listen to you in this matter.”

So, on Dorian's insistence, Arethin went to see her.

“Dorian tells me that something is wrong,” she said.

Vivienne gave a tiny laugh. “Dorian,” her smile was fond. “He would never admit to it, but he fusses like a hen.”

“Is he right to do so?”

Vivienne was quiet for a long moment. “A personal matter,” she said. “But...”

“But?”

“You recall Bastien, the noble who gave my people shelter?”

“Of course.”

“He is...ill.”

“Oh,” Arethin blinked. “I'm sorry. Is it serious?”

Vivienne nodded, her expression forlorn. “Very ill, I'm afraid,” she said. 

“Is there anything we can do?”

“I am trying to make a potion to heal him, but it requires the heart of a snowy wyvern.”

“There aren't many of those around,” Arethin said with a grimace.

“I know. I sent a group of hunters to the Exalted Plains to find one I knew was there, but they failed in their quest and were killed.”

“We do have some people in the Plains,” Arethin reminded her.

“I know. I simply do not wish to allocate Alliance or Dalish resources to my own personal needs.” 

“I'm sure I can manage something,” Arethin said. “Bastien gave your people shelter. Without him, who knows what the Venatori would have done?” 

Vivienne stared at her, then gave her a genuine smile. “It would be a great favor to me, my dear,” she said. “But you needn't go out of your way.”

The snowy wyvern resided in one of the areas of the Plains that most people tended to avoid. A strange ruin was located there, positively ancient Elvhenan architecture noted to be haunted. On top of the ghosts and Veil tears, it was flooded and filled with all sorts of dangerous creatures, the wyverns being just one kind. 

The wyverns needed to be removed for any archaeological work to be done anyway, so really, Vivienne's request was not such a difficult one. Arethin sent several hunters that way, and they returned with the correct wyvern heart. When they returned to Skyhold, Arethin went to deliver the box.

Vivienne took it, her expression almost reverential. “My dear, you are a treasure,” she said. “I will begin work on the potion immediately.”

It was several days before Vivienne was finished.

“I must see Bastien,” she informed Arethin when it was done. “Dorian will come with me. We shall not be gone for long.”

“I will come with you,” Arethin said, considering both Vivienne and Dorian's words on the subject. “Someone must see you through the eluvian, after all.”

Vivienne gave a light sigh.

“I suppose you are right,” she said. 

It took a bit of time to get to the estate, but not overmuch. Upon seeing Vivienne and Dorian, the residents let them in immediately.

Bastien was sequestered in his bedroom. At the door, a healer came to greet them.

“Madame, he is not well,” the healer murmured in Vivienne's ear.

“I know that,” Vivienne said, her voice chilly. “Why do you think I am here?”

The healer sighed and stood back. “Very well,” she said. “Perhaps it will do him good to see you.”

Dorian and Arethin followed Vivienne into the room.

Vivienne went to Bastien's side. “My love?” Vivienne murmured, stroking Bastien's sweaty forehead. “I am here.”

Bastien gave no sign that he had heard.

Vivienne held the cup to Bastien's lips, poured the liquid down his throat. After a moment or two, he opened his eyes.

“It will be alright, my love,” Bastien breathed.

Then he closed his eyes again, and was still. 

“Bastien?” Vivienne cradled his head in her hands. “Bastien?”

The healer came back, coming to Bastien's side. She glanced at Vivienne and shook her head.

Vivienne stepped back, for a moment looking lost.

“I'm sorry, Vivienne,” Dorian put a hand on her shoulder.

Vivienne closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “Come,” she said. “Let us leave. There's nothing here anymore.”

“Of course,” Dorian said. 

Vivienne was uncommonly forlorn following Bastien's death, retreating to her quarters and not coming out for several days. She made arrangements for his funeral, but other than that, had little interaction with anyone except for Dorian.

Arethin was not very close to her, so only felt the need to be generally sympathetic. Dorian was extremely worried, however, doing his best not to show it, but constantly going to check up on her.

“Honestly, darling,” Vivienne sighed after around the fifth time in as many days Dorian had come to hover about her. “One would think you expected me to vanish.”

“Why, Madame, if you vanished, you'd leave me all the work,” Dorian admonished. “I can't possibly let it happen.”

“Leave you with the work? You'd make a disaster of things. I couldn't possibly leave you to your own devices.”

Dorian smiled. “Pleased to hear it.”

Things were not quite settled with Dorian and Vivienne, however, even after that. The trip to Adamant had left Dorian with more questions that were difficult to answer, and even Vivienne and Cadash could not really help, so Dorian went to Arethin.

“Lavellan,” 

“Dorian.”

“I keep—I have questions,” he said all in a rush. “Questions that the nightmare demon brought up, that I can't put aside.”

“Questions?” she raised her eyebrow. “What must be asked of me, that you cannot ask of another?”

“I'm...not very knowledgeable about southern elves,” Dorian said, glancing at the floor. 

“Mm.” Arethin tilted her head back, uncertain what that had to do with anything, although she had a guess. “Most elves in the Imperium are slaves, are they not?”

“The majority. There are Liberati elves—freed elves, but for the most part...” Dorian trailed off. “I tell myself it could be worse. A slave at least is kept in shelter, of a sort.”

Arethin scowled. “I hope there's a 'but' at the end of that sentence.”

“'It could be worse' isn't a very good justification, I know.”

“It's not any kind of justification.”

Dorian sighed, and braced his hands on one of the bookshelves. “Thinking of my homeland is like trying to walk through hip-deep mud,” he said. “There are so many terrible things I—it's difficult to sort them all out. Especially if you've lived with them and aren't even sure what counts as terrible.”

Ah. Arethin understood, now.

“The demon mentioned that you had a fear of...decay. Temptation.” she said. “Is this a part of that?”

“Oh, one part,” Dorian sneered. “There are many parts to Tevinter.” he shook his head. “There must be something worth salvaging, but I hardly know where to begin.”

“Well, this question is thus an easy one. Slavery is wrong.” she folded her arms and she watched him, curious as to his reaction.

“I always thought that,” Dorian said. “I _do_ think that. But my mind gets caught up in—there are degrees of slavery, I've found. Orlesians have their indentured servants, the Circles have—had—their Tranquil, the Liberati are trapped by poverty if not bound by a master...how do you even identify slavery if you can't see who holds the leash?”

Arethin tilted her head to the side. 

Dorian began to pace. “If a man is freed from slavery to become a Liberati, you would think that would be a good thing. But what if that man is then mired in poverty, unable to find work or shelter for any number of reasons, whereas while in slavery he had both of those things, if not his freedom? Is that right? Whose fault is that? Which is better, to be free to starve and die, or to be able to live but not be free?”

“You've given this a great deal of thought,” Arethin said. 

“I have to,” Dorian said. “When so many things you've been taught all your life are very clearly the wrong thing, it becomes necessary to think yourself out of the place they trapped you in.”

“Here's a simple answer for you,” Arethin told him. “Slavery is wrong. Poverty is wrong. Neither states are good.”

“That is obvious,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

“But,” Arethin continued. “Slavery assumes that people are things, to be used and discarded. It crushes someone more thoroughly than being poor ever could. Slavery seeks to trap every last part of someone—their mind, their soul, their body. Everything. That is what makes it so terrible. There's your answer.” she paused. “And if it looks like slavery, it probably is slavery,” she added. “They're just calling it a different name.” 

He looked at her, a curious expression in his face. 

“I honestly hadn't thought you'd answer in such detail,” he said.

“Then why ask the question?”

“You seemed the best one to ask--well, the best one to ask who wouldn't object to the question. You have my thanks.”

She gave him a tiny smile. “You are welcome.”


	32. As The Black Clouds Came Upon Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's a little late--real busy this week!

They had about a month's reprieve before Keeper Merrill came, bringing terrible news.

“It's the Qunari," she told the assembled council, gnawing nervously at her fingernails. "We've chased them away from the parts of the crossroads we use, but we can't find all of them. They keep finding eluvians further and further away from the active network.”

Arethin ran a hand over her head. “Is it an invasion?”

“I don't know for sure,” Merrill said. “We've been setting up defenses around our active eluvians, but they don't seem to be attacking any of them, just opening them up, looking around, then leaving again.”

“Are they scouting ahead for something?” Felassan suggested. 

“No, if that were the case, you wouldn't know about it,” Iron Bull said. “This sounds more like they're in a panic.”

“How can you tell?” Arethin asked.

“If they were scouting or spying, they'd make sure no one knew. If they were invading, you'd know exactly where they were because they'd want you to know.” Bull glanced at Merrill. “Where do the eluvians lead?”

“Some of them open in ruins near Tevinter,” Merrill said. “More of them open into the Wilds.”

“The Qunari are hunting Corypheus, just as we are,” Leliana said, in a sudden burst of realization. 'Perhaps they have a better idea of where he is?”

“Why would they know what eluvians open into the Wilds?” Arethin asked.

“They probably have a vested interest in your artifacts,” Bull explained. “I'm guessing they did a lot of digging around, but now something has them spooked enough to really go for it.”

“So—figuring on where the Qunari are investigating, and where the Venatori have been active...”

There was one area on the map where the two crossed over. 

“Solas? Felassan? Does this place look familiar?”

Felassan and Solas looked at each other.

“We still don't have an accurate Elvhenan map,” Felassan said slowly. 

Solas pulled the map closer to him, eyes narrowed. “It is likely there was something there,” he said.

“So we should go there,” Arethin sighed, sitting back in her chair.

Everyone looked at each other. 

“Taking on the Qunari and the Venatori at the same time,” Bull let out a long breath. “Yeah, this will end well.”

“We can't ignore this,” Josephine said.

“I agree,” Leliana said. “Perhaps Empress Giuseppina and King Alistair can lend some assistance--”

“For something this important?” Bann Teagan exclaimed. “Of course the King would.”

“Queen Aeducan will of course lend a hand,” Vhelan said.

“And the Dalish as well,” Yara said. 

“We need to regain control of the eluvians in the area,” Arethin said. “Or this will take quite some time.”

Merrill shook her head. “All the ones there are broken,” she said. “Or blocked. We haven't figured out how to unlock them yet.”

Arethin frowned. “So we'll need to go the long way.”

Leliana's people could scout it out first, to see what there was to see. Within several weeks, they returned, and told them that there was a strange set of ruins, clearly Elvhen rather than Dalish or Tevinter. 

“There must be an important artifact or somesuch there,” Arethin said. “We have to go and see what it is.”

They all agreed to do so. 

They didn't use any of the eluvians into the Wilds directly, choosing instead to surround the area so they wouldn't risk being cornered by the Qunari. The Dalish, dwarven, Orlesian, Ferelden and Inquisition forces would all assist, and hopefully they would manage to repel any forces of Corypheus' or the Qunari.

Both the Venatori and the Qunari were there already, mostly fighting each other instead of the Alliance.

The forest was very dark, the Veil strange and thin. The trees towered over them, huge and ancient, and it felt distinctly crowded with magic. There were some ruins already evident, though they were so worn and weathered that it was impossible to tell who had built them to begin with.

Arethin brought her party to the forward camp the Alliance had set up. With her was Solas, Felassan, Cassandra, Morrigan, Cole, Sera, and Iron Bull. 

Morrigan, not normally a part of Arethin's jaunts, came because she had some measure of knowledge of ruins. Keeper Merrill would have come in her place, except she was needed to ensure that none of the eluvians were hijacked by unwelcome visitors, and no one else had the knowledge to do that. Felassan, likewise, was not usually with Arethin, but he and Solas both had some basic idea of what might be in the ruins.

Arethin would actually have brought more people with her, not wanting to run out of hands or sword-arms in case they ran into something they couldn't handle, but many had their own engagements. Dorian and Vivienne were needed to coordinate the loyal mages, and Varric insisted upon helping Merrill. Everyone else was needed to lead the troops or had some other task. 

“Do you recognize this place?” Arethin asked Solas, looking around the forest. It was dark and almost claustrophobic, in a way similar to the Brecelian. However, the Brecelian was frequently traveled, and this place was not.

Solas shook his head. “Would you recognize somewhere you had not been to in several hundred years?”

“I haven't had the pleasure.”

“People come into this forest, and they do not leave it,” Morrigan interjected, narrowing her eyes at the trees. “This place has a strange reputation.”

“That is either due to the local wildlife, ancient spells, or a third, far less likely option,” Solas said.

“What's that?” Arethin asked. 

“There are elves of Elvhenan living there, who very much do not want to be disturbed.”

“Is that even possible?”

“It is entirely possible. It is simply not likely.”

“What should we do if we came across such a thing?” Cassandra asked.

“We might be able to ally with them,” Felassan said. “That's provided they were friends to Fen'harel in the first place.”

“If this is a temple to Mythal, we will have no issues in that area,” Solas said. “However it is far more likely that we will come across ruins and traps centuries old, with no minds to appeal to.” 

They moved through the forest, following the signs of Venatori and Qunari fighting. The two groups had started to clash, leaving a great deal of destruction in their wake. When they first encountered one of these fights, at first, the two sides ignored the Alliance interlopers. 

However, that soon changed when Arethin and her group began to interfere.

One Qunari's eyes widened, spotting iron Bull. 

“The Viddasala comes, Hissrad,” the Qunari snarled. “You will not turn her as you have been turned!”

When the fight was over, they all looked at each other, concerned.

“The Viddasala is here,” Arethin said. “Bull, what should we do if we find her?”

“Mages should keep back,” he said. “The Viddasala knows how to stop magic cold, like a Seeker.”

Arethin nodded. “Could she counter the mark?” she held up her hand. “Felassan, Solas, how well do Seeker or Templar abilities work on you?”

“It would be wiser to attack conventionally, if the Viddasala has counters to magic,” Solas said. “The mark will be something they cannot anticipate, however.”

“But you shouldn't rely on it,” Felassan was quick to point out. “Mages stay back, and that includes you, Lavellan.”

“Very well,” Arethin nodded. “But we must get to the temple quickly, before the Venatori or the Qunari.”

The ruins were tangled deep within the forest, and the further they went, the more fighting there was. 

After one skirmish, they came across a body that made Solas stop in his tracks. 

Dressed in strange golden armor, the body was of an elf. She was very tall, even taller than Solas, her face pale and gaunt, marked with Mythal's vallaslin in light gold. 

“This isn't one of our people,” Arethin said, leaning down to inspect the body. 

“How can you tell? Looks elfy enough to me,” Sera said.

Arethin shook her head. “This isn't Dalish armor,” she said, pointing, her finger tracing the designs inlaid on the woman's breastplate.

“No,” Solas' voice was somewhat strangled. “The guardians of Mythal's temple. This is one of _our_ people.” 

They looked at him. Both he and Felassan were pale, Felassan shifting from foot to foot with nerves.

“Looks like the Venatori or the Qunari attacked her,” Bull said, glancing back down at the body. “But she's the only one here. Could there be more?”

“Mythal's guardians come in groups,” Solas said, his voice soft. “Where this one is, there will be more.” he shook his head as if trying to clear it and pressed forward. “We must reach them before either the Venatori or the Qunari,” he said. 

They hurried deeper into the forest, not finding any more bodies of the guardians, but finding strangely fletched arrows sunk into bodies. 

“These aren't normal,” Sera said, yanking an arrow out of a fallen Qunari. “These from more of your elfy friends?” She asked Solas.

“Yes,” he said, taking the arrow and examining it. “Yes, this is an arrow of Mythal's Sentinels,” he held out the arrow for Felassan to examine.

Felassan grimaced. “Sentinels it is,” he agreed. “They never had much of a soft spot for us, did they?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Is this going to be a problem?” Arethin asked.

“We were allies at some point,” Solas said. “They will be less than pleased to see intruders, even so.”

They continued on, until they reached a group of Venatori and Qunari fighting in front of an enormous doorway. 

Both groups ignored them, until Arethin and her companions attempted to get past. The ensuing fight was bloody, though Arethin's group managed to avoid any serious injuries. When the fight was over, they finally were able to examine the place that they had come to.

The doorway was absolutely gargantuan, taller even than the gates of Skyhold. It had no actual doors, or if it had, they were long since gone. Designs of animals chased each other around the frame, and the opening was flanked by two huge statues of howling wolves. Solas looked up at one, frowning slightly.

“What is it?” Arethin asked.

“We might have been here before,” Felassan supplied. “I vaguely remember a place like this once.”

Solas nodded. “Perhaps,” he said. “But it is so changed it is difficult to recognize.”

The doorway lead into a huge, dark hall. Arethin frowned, feeling something buzzing in the Veil, and they could hear arguing and shouting coming from the other end. 

“Carefully,” she murmured to her companions. Solas, Felassan and Morrigan all looked a bit discomfited, which meant they could probably feel what was wrong about the Veil as well. Sensing the mages' discomfort, the others adjusted their grips on their weapons, and they moved forward with great care.

Quietly, they came to the exit, and found themselves on a tall balcony overlooking an overgrown courtyard.

Arethin stifled a gasp when she saw Corypheus. His massive bulk was framed by several red Templars in varying degrees of deterioration, as well as three figures in Warden armor. 

Opposite him was the Viddasala, dressed in heavy armor and holding a huge spear in one hand. She was accompanied by several hulking Qunari warriors, all bearing large weapons as well. One of the Qunari had the telltale chains and mask of a Saarebas.

The two groups did not fight each other. Instead, they stood before a bridge that crossed a small pond. On the bridge were several elves in the same golden armor as the body they had seen earlier, all with their own weapons out and all looking absolutely murderous, dark eyes gleaming underneath their hoods. 

Surrounding both the Viddasala and Corypheus' groups was a magical barrier for each of them, leaving them only able to shout at each other. One of the Wardens slammed spells against the barrier, and the Viddasala and her warriors pounded on their side of the barrier with their weapons. For the moment, the barriers held.

Arethin could see the barriers weakening with each blow, however, and her hand tightened on her staff.

“Foul creature,” the Viddasala spat, pausing from her assault on the barrier for a moment. “You will be removed, as a poisoned limb is cut off!”

“You, savage, seek to order me?” Corypheus snarled, his voice thundering in their ears. The Wardens' noses gushed blood, and they had blood on their armor that indicated this had gone on for some time, but they hardly seemed to notice. “You who barely understand enough magic to dream?” 

“You must _both_ leave,” the elf at the front of the bridge snarled, waving a hand and making the barriers spark and flare, forcing those trapped within away from them for a moment. “This place is not for you!”

“Relics of a bygone age,” Corypheus drawled, reaching out a hand and touching a long talon to the barrier. “You shall not order me.” 

“Bas-saarebas do not order those of the Qun,” the Viddasala snapped, again she hit the barrier with the shaft of her spear.

“ _Leave_.”

Corypheus' barrier broke at the same time as the Viddasala's. The elves began to retreat, but not before something exploded, throwing both Corypheus and the Viddasala back.   
Corypheus' body slammed into a far wall, and he fell in a crumpled heap.

“After them!” the Viddasala pointed, and the Qunari gave chase to the elves. “The monster is no more!” 

Arethin and her companions ran down from the balcony, to inspect the bodies of Corypheus and his accompaniment.

They seemed to have borne the brunt of the explosion, as there were only two Qunari bodies and no survivors from Corypheus' group. They observed Corypheus' body from a distance.

“This is not right,” Morrigan said with a frown. “How could that mere spell kill him?”

“It doesn't make sense,” Arethin agreed. “We dropped an avalanche on him and it still wasn't enough.”

One of the Warden bodies began to twitch, and they all stared at it. Black fluid, thick like tar, began to ooze from the Warden's mouth and eyes, and they all took several steps back. 

The body jerked upright, its back arching in a long, agonized bow, and a clawed arm burst forth from between its lips, scattering teeth everywhere like tiny white gems. They were frozen as another arm forced its way out of the Warden's head, splitting the face in two, and—impossibly—Corypheus began to claw his way out of the body.

“We should run,” Arethin said. “We should really, really...run.”

They ran, even as they heard the scream of a dragon overhead. They dashed across the bridge, in through the open entrance, and began to push the massive double doors closed. 

A blast of fire slammed into the gateway just as they closed it, and a ripple of magic sealed the doors closed. 

Arethin leaned against the door with a sigh.

“We need to find those elves,” she said, straightening up.

Solas nodded. “The Viddasala is ahead of us,” he said. “Likely, they will be fighting her, or attempting to lead her astray somehow.”

“Lead her astray?”

“This temple should be very large—many of the old temples had mechanisms in place for confusing and trapping the unwanted.” 

“I see,” Arethin said. “So how do we go forward?”

They looked around. They had come into a huge antechamber, lit by mostly natural light, overgrown, but clearly it had once been very fine in its time. 

“There will be ways into the temple, but most likely barred,” Solas said. “Come—we should follow the tracks of the Qunari.” 

The Qunari had clearly met with several of the elves, as there were both elvhen and Qunari corpses littering the steps. However, the doors at the top of the steps were closed and locked.

“Is there some way to open these?” Arethin asked.

Solas looked around. “The temples are often closed with very elaborate locks,” he said, his brow furrowed. “Ah—there.” he pointed to a raised platform in the middle of the courtyard. 

They went to the platform. Arethin put a foot on it, and a part of the platform lit up blue. 

“It is a puzzle,” Solas said. “Those who were not already devotees or guardians would need to solve it to pass.”

“That's stupid,” Sera said. “Sounds too bloody busy. Who has the time?”

“The elvhen once lived for a very, very long time,” Solas said. “We had quite enough to spare.” 

“Could the Qunari have worked out the puzzle?” Arethin asked.

“This one is simple. Watch.” Solas stepped onto the platform, and a panel on it lit up. Quickly, he walked around the entire platform, and soon the entire thing was shining with soft blue light. The door opened at the top of the stairs. “You see?”

“This is stupid,” Sera said again.

“I did not build it.”

“The real question is, if you _did_ have a temple like this, would you lock the doors with puzzles?” Iron Bull asked, bumping Solas' shoulder with his own.

Solas considered. “For practicality's sake, no.” he said after a moment. 

They went up the steps to the door, and found more bodies. They could hear the sounds of fighting in the distance, and Arethin could feel magic of some variety being done.

“Come on,” she said. “Hurry!” 

They came to a chamber where several of the elves fought the Qunari soldiers. A great hole had been blasted further into the temple, and the elves were trying to defend it. Arethin caught sight of the Viddasala before she was blocked by a Qunari warrior. She blasted the warrior back with a fire spell, but the Viddasala was gone. 

The elves and Arethin's group managed to dispatch the Qunari, but when the fighting was done, Arethin found herself on the business end of an elvhen blade. Several other guardian elves had their bows trained on Arethin's group. 

“We aren't your enemy,” she said, raising her hands. She met the eyes of her companions, and jerked her head, indicating that they should put their own weapons down.

On a balcony, high above, one of the elves surveyed them. He was very tall, dressed in the same golden armor as the others. His skin was deathly pale, with a faintly yellowish tint to it, making him look as if he were ill. 

“You...are not like the other invaders.” his voice was very heavily accented, a little differently than Solas or Felassan, indicating he'd learned Common somewhere other than either of them. The elf tilted his head to one side, regarding them with golden eyes that gleamed in the half-light. “You bear the mark of magic, which is...familiar.”

“We aren't your enemies,” Arethin repeated. She looked over to Solas. “Speak to them,” she said in Dalish. “They might listen to you rather than me.”

“They also may not appreciate my involvement,” Solas said.

“Solas...”

Solas looked up at the man. He spoke something in Elvhen that Arethin didn't catch all of, and after a very long moment, the man inclined his head, and the weapons were lowered. 

“Those who are attacking your temple are here for two different reasons,” Solas continued, switching back to Common. “One group is only here to destroy. The other wishes to take an artifact that belongs to you.”

“We heard.” the man's lip curled in disgust. “One—that poisoned thing—desired the Vir Abelas'an.”

“The way of the Well of Sorrows,” Morrigan murmured. “That must be what Corypheus has been searching for.”

The man's golden eyes darted to Morrigan before he continued. “And the other—who has gained entrance—merely wants it destroyed.” he shook his head, and looked at Solas, eyes suspicious. “And what do you wish?”

“We do not want either of them to achieve their aims.” 

“Is this the work of Fen'harel? Do you go about uprooting everything once again?”

“No,” Arethin stepped forward. “He is simply here to help us.”

“And who are you?” the elf looked her over, eyes tracing her vallaslin. “One of those young shadows, I see, who claims the name of elvhen.” 

Arethin bristled. “We can all stand around talking, or you can let us help,” she snapped. “So. What are we going to do?” 

“We must deal with the destroyers first,” the man said. “Then the creature. Then you will _leave_.”

“Then we shall deal with the Qunari first,” Arethin agreed.

The man came down from the balcony, and he as well as several of the other Sentinels lead the way deeper into the temple, ignoring the massive channel that had been blown in the wall. 

“Couldn't we just go that way?” Sera asked, pointing to the damage.

“No,” the man snapped. “We will not go the way of those who defiled the Temple.”

Sera scowled and Bull and Morrigan both frowned, all clearly unhappy at being made to take the lengthier route.

“They have likely set many traps,” Solas explained in an undertone. “Part of the ritual path is to avoid becoming ensnared in traps meant to keep out those who should not be here.”

Morrigan seemed somewhat mollified, but Sera and Iron Bull were still very skeptical.

“Who are you?” Arethin asked the man. “You never told us your name.”

“I am called Abelas.” the man glanced down at her. He was very tall, easily a head taller than Cassandra, and towered over everyone except for Bull. “If your people are not Fen'harel's, then who are you?”

“Representatives of the Alliance of the South,” she said. “I'm the Mediator—Arethin Nadur of Clan Lavellan.”

“And you—are you a traitor to the destroyers?” Abelas turned to Bull. “We have seen their like before. Once.”

“Don't get out much, do you?” Bull said, raising his eyebrow. Abelas only scowled. “I used to be on their side,” Bull continued with a sigh. “I'm not anymore.” 

“I understand that keeping Fen'harel's company has a habit of making one's alliances change,” Abelas said, shooting a nasty look at Solas, who glared right back. 

“Have you two met before?” Arethin asked, looking from one to the other. 

“No,” Solas said. “But I have been to many of the temples of Mythal.”

“Or all of them,” Felassan murmured, and Solas shot him a look. 

“All Elvhen know Fen'harel,” Abelas said. “Some of us knew him with more favor than others. You are simply lucky that we are here, and that a temple to Anaris does not yet stand.” 

“So are you.” Solas' tone was impassive, but a frown had appeared between his brows.

Abelas considered that. “Perhaps.” 

“The Well of Sorrows,” Arethin said. “The Vir'abelasan. What is it?” 

“It is not for you,” Abelas snapped. “We are here to guard it. It shall not be despoiled.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“It is what lies at the end of a path wrought by those who toiled in Mythal's favor,” Abelas said, clenching his jaw. “It was already for very few people. More than that, you need not know.”

“A favor of some kind,” Solas murmured, his brow knitted in thoughts. “The temples contained many such artifacts. Mythal tended to bestow knowledge, but the favors were different from temple to temple.”

Abelas inclined his head. 

The temple was indeed a labyrinth, and the walls soon shook with fighting. Abelas scowled.

“That accursed dragon...' he muttered.

“You saw it before?” Arehin asked. 

Abelas nodded. “We thought we had knocked it from the sky, but it is not a true dragon. It is the creature's, spelled in a way we are having difficulty repelling.” 

“So you're not all that great after all, then?” Sera said with a sneer. “Don't know what the Dalish all go on about.” 

Abelas looked at her, golden eyes penetrating. He asked Solas something in Elvhen.

“This is Sera, of the Red Jennies,” Solas explained. “She is very young.” he glared at Abelas as if daring him to make any more remarks.

“Not that young, Baldy,” Sera snapped.

“Sera, Abelas is several thousand years old. Most people under five hundred are young to him.”

“Oh,” Sera blinked. “Right.”

“You are not like the shadows in the forest,” Abelas said, addressing Sera directly now. “We know that some of the children of the Elvhen live in human cities, but we know little about them. Are you of them?” 

“I dunno,” Sera shrugged. “Just don't like livin' in a stupid forest.” she shuddered. “All this weird demon shite...” 

Abelas scowled. “You walk on sacred ground,” he told her. “Demons have nothing to do with it.” 

“Oh yeah? What's so bloody sacred about it?”

“Stop, both of you,” Arethin instructed. “We need to keep moving. Do you think Corypheus can get past that front door?” 

Abelas shook his head. “It would take him time. We are barring the dragon as best we can, as well, but the destroyers came before we sealed the door.”

“Why didn't you just keep the door shut?” Bull asked. 

“There is always the possibility that whoever is outside is one of our people,” Abelas said, his lip curling. “The possibility grows less and less each time we awaken. But some among us still hope it to be.”

“Two of your people did come,” Cassandra reminded him, nodding at Solas and Felassan.

“They are not _my_ people,” Abelas hissed. “More our people than you, or you,” he pointed to Arethin and Sera. “But Fen'harel and his armies turned his back on _my_ people.”

Solas snapped something in Elvhen, and Abelas responded in kind, before Arethin held up her hands.

“That is _enough_ ,” she said. “We do not have time for this.” she eyed Solas, who merely glowered at Abelas, but the two stopped their fighting for the moment. 

“The destroyers are there,” Abelas said, pointing to a doorway up ahead. When they reached the doorway, they found themselves under open sky again, in another dilapidated courtyard. It was crowded with Sentinels and Qunari fighting with each other.

The Viddasala was there, and when Arethin and her company arrived, she glared at them.

“You,” she said, pointing at Arethin. She walked forward. “Survivor of the Breach. Hero of the south.” her lip curled.

Abelas raised his staff, but Arethin frowned and held a hand out. “Do you wish to speak, instead of fight?” she asked.

“It is astonishing that such...creatures of magic still walk free,” the Viddasala glared at the elves, who glared right back. 

“Wretched thing,” one of the elves spat in heavily accented Common. “You would judge _us_ , destroyer?”

“You are called Mediator,” the Viddasala addressed Arethin again. “You fulfilled your purpose in closing the Breach. You must know in your heart of hearts that your magic must be stopped.”

“You have it backwards,” Arethin said. “Trying to stop magic makes about as much sense as trying to stop a flood.”

The Viddasala shook her head. “The chaos in the south defies comprehension,” she sneered. “It can no longer be allowed. This--” she swept her arm, encompassing the temple. “This is just evidence of that.”

“And you destroying things will somehow help?”

“You mark Fen'harel as one of your people.” her eyes darted to Solas and back again. “Is he not the bringer of chaos?” 

“You speak of what you know little about, destroyer,” Abelas said. “Mediator, have you heard enough from this fool?” he glared at her. “We will not allow their like to defile the temple further.”

“Magic creature,” the Viddasala hissed. “The world will be cleansed of your like.”

“We were here long before your people were ever born,” Abelas snarled. 

“Enough!” Arethin snapped. “Is there—any way—we can resolve this without killing more of each other? Need I remind everyone that Corypheus is still banging on the door, and he has a vested interest in killing all of us?”

“He will be destroyed, as surely as the rest of this disaster,” the Viddasala said. “You rejected us before. You made your own enemies—fight the battle you have wrought.” The Viddasala glowered and shook her head. “Without you, we could have brought the south peace and wisdom along the gentle path,” she said. “But you have forced us along the path of blades.”

“We did not _make_ you do anything,” Arethin scowled and took a step forward. “You did as you wished. We reactivated _our_ eluvian network, and you just wanted to use it for yourselves! They don't belong to you—and they're magic besides!”

The Viddasala's lip curled. “All things are a means to an end.” she nodded at her soldiers, and as one they moved forward, advancing on Arethin's people as well as the Sentinels that surrounded them.

Before they attacked, however, the Viddasala had one last thing to say. “Hissrad,” the Viddasala commanded, looking at Bull. “Now, please! Vinek kathas!”

Arethin and Solas both looked at Bull, but he snorted and shook his head.

“Not a chance, ma'am,” he said, a derisive curl to his lip. 

The Viddasala stared, and her eyes flickered between Bull, and Solas, and Arethin.

“You have allied with liars and mages,” she said. “You use old magic that would kill us all if it had the chance. You turn our own against us!” the rest of her words were lost as Abelas charged the woman, and Arethin raised a wall of fire in response to a Qunari soldier.

The soldier was blocked, but another soldier came on Arethin's other side, and she froze him just in time. She pulled a sword from the ether and brought it down on the chest of the first oncomer, then yanked at the Veil and sent lightning bolts shooting down over the field. 

Cassandra bashed the soldier with her shield, and suddenly she and Arethin were back to back. 

Abelas was busy trying to hit the Viddasala with his staff, and another Sentinel with a massive warhammer was taking on three Qunari at once. Arethin ducked as an arrow whizzed over her head.

A Qunari bellowed in pain, and Arethin turned to see him ensnared in a trap that had been hidden on the temple floor. On the other side of the field, a Sentinel who looked to have been cornered by no less than four Qunari yanked on the jutting arm of a statue, throwing up a magical field that shredded two of the Qunari caught in it. 

There were losses on the side of the Sentinels as well, however. One man had been struck by a wicked, barbed lance that had been thrown by one of the Qunari, catching him in the back and pinning him to the ground. Another screamed in rage and pain as her sword-arm was broken by the ax of the one she fought. 

The fight spilled out of the courtyard and spread through the temple ruins, the Qunari relentless but the Sentinels lightning-fast, using the temple's various features and tricks to their full advantage. The air was thick with the smell of spellwork and gaatlock, and soon Arethin could hardly see anything at all.

Then the walls shook, and everyone froze.

“It is the dragon!” the Viddesala exclaimed. “Fools—you have only stopped us from killing it!”

“Then stop fighting us, and we can _all_ kill it!” Arethin said.

“ _Never_ ,” the Viddasala snarled. 

Arethin's chest heaved, and the battle began again, the Qunari's energy seemed to double. 

She realized that they could not win this battle and face the dragon at the same time. Something must be done.

But what? 

She could open a rift like she had done a few times before to dispatch enemies, but with this amount of chaos she couldn't be sure of what would happen if she were distracted. A spike of pain lanced up her arm at the idea, and then she recalled whose arm the mark was originally meant for.

She cast about wildly for Solas, who was casting barrier spells left and right, a gash on one cheek dripping blood. She ran to him and grabbed his arm.

He stared down at her, startled. “What?”

“Help me,” she hissed, and raised her hand.

He nodded once, understanding immediately, and he clasped her hand. She felt his strength flow into her as she peeled open the Veil. She cried out as pain spiked up her arm, and water began to pour from the hole made in the sky. She opened the Veil more, and she realized dimly that the magical displays around her grew brighter, that the energy that Solas poured into her was moreso, and she could smell magic in the air--

“Stop,” Solas said in her ear. “This is enough for now.”

“Close it?” 

“No,” still holding onto her arm, they both turned to face the Viddasala. “Not yet.”

She felt the strangest sensation, as Solas turned from giving her magic to the opposite, channeling the power of the Fade through her hand, and his eyes gleamed brightly. 

There was a ringing like a bell, and suddenly the battle stopped. 

Arethin blinked, for suddenly the temple seemed to be full of statues instead of Qunari. The others, both Arethin's people and the Sentinels both, stopped and looked around. 

“...the fuck?” Iron Bull muttered. Sera carefully circled one of the Qunari that she had just landed an arrow in. She reached up to touch the arrow sunk in his chest—it was turned to stone, just like he was. 

And the Viddasala herself had become stone, poised as she was to throw her lance. She did not look shocked or surprised to find herself in such a state. Her face was merely frozen in the expression of determination she had worn the whole battle.

Arethin staggered forward, suddenly dizzy. Solas caught her, carefully avoiding her marked arm.

"Did you do that?” she asked, staring around at the field of statues. 

Solas nodded.

“How?”

“You brought some of my strength back into the world,” he said. “You wished to end the battle quickly, so thus I did.”

“Andraste's ass,” Sera breathed. 

“Are you alright?” Cassandra had sheathed her blade and was by Arethin's other side. “Maker, what were you doing?”

“I needed to stop it,” Arethin said, running a hand over her head. The others gathered closer to her, giving Solas wary looks. “I didn't want to try and open a rift and have something go wrong because someone hit me. So I asked Solas to help.”

“And you...turned them all into statues?” Iron Bull exclaimed, staring at Solas, his eye wide.

Solas nodded. 

“That was dangerous, even for you,” Felassan piped up, his expression disapproving. “You could have hurt Lavellan—or yourself. Or you both could have blown yourselves up—the last time I remember you doing anything like that was--”

“A battle with Anaris,” Abelas had come into the discussion. The Sentinels had recovered from their shock quickly, and were now tending to the wounded. “I remember as well.”

At the others' questioning looks, Abelas scowled. 

“Mythal was there also,” he said. “It went poorly for Fen'harel's forces, and he--”

“Turned about half of Anaris' monsters to ice,” Felassan supplied. 

Everyone stared at Solas again. 

“Lavellan wished for my assistance,” he said. “So I assisted her. I cannot do a spell like that with frequency, but we have little time.” he raised his eyebrows. “So I suggest we continue this discussion later.”

Arethin nodded and sighed. “What do we do about the Well?”

“We must take it, prevent Corypheus from having it,” Morrigan said immediately.

Abelas and the other Sentinels stiffened.

“It is not for you,” he snapped.

“Abelas--” Arethin said. 

He shook his head, and turned, and ran to the Well.

“Come,” Arethin said. “We need to go!”

The Well was on an enormous platform, at first looking like there was no way to reach it. However, when Abelas got to the bottom of the platform, a set of steps began to materialize under his feet as he ran, and he bolted up them, followed by several other Sentinels. Morrigan let out a cry and turned into a bird, flying up to the top to get ahead of him. 

They came to the top. The Well was a deep pool of water, that, despite being an ostensibly stationary pond, rippled and moved with no outside interference. Morrigan had turned back into a human, and stood between Abelas and the Well.

The Sentinels crowded the group to keep anyone getting too close.

“The Well must not be tainted,” Abelas said. “It cannot be consumed by that _creature_.”

“No one was suggesting that.” Arethin assured him. 

“None of you can take it, either,” he proclaimed.

“Then what do we do with it?”

Abelas shook his head. “We might try to protect it, but I fear that creature will not stop.”

“Most likely no, he will not.”

Abelas furrowed his brow and exchanged a look with the other sentinels that had followed them up. 

“Abelas?” Arethin prompted. “What do we do?”

“Perhaps the destroyers had the correct approach, though for the wrong reason,” Abelas muttered darkly. 

“What?”

“Lavellan, we cannot let the Well go to waste!” Morrigan insisted.

“No one said we were going to!” Arethin snapped. “Will everyone please calm down?” she looked over her shoulder when they heard a roar from the dragon. “Are you sure there's no way to—preserve it? What _is_ it, exactly?”

“The knowledge of all those who came before,” Abelas said. “Any of those favored of Mythal brought what they knew to it.” 

“Oh,” Arethin looked down at the water. It rippled again, and she realized it had a strange misty quality, as if it were not precisely water at all. She didn't know how many people's memories were a part of the Well, but any one of the ancient elves would have thousands of years worth of knowledge to devote to it. 

She felt somewhat lightheaded. 

“Is there some way to save it?” she asked. 

“One might drink from the Well and gain the knowledge,” Morrigan said. 

“It is not for you,” Abelas said, glaring at her. “It is not for any of you.”

“Fool,” Morrigan sneered. “You would prefer to destroy this relic rather than--”

“Why not?” Arethin asked, cutting Morrigan off.

“Do not be foolish,” Morrigan said, shooting a glare in Arethin's direction. “There is no reason--”

“It is not for mortal minds,” Abelas said, ignoring Morrigan. “Whoever drank from it would have the memories of tens of thousands of years, and be bound to the will of Mythal for all time.”

“Bound to the will of a goddess who no longer exists?” Morrigan scoffed. 

“The first of our kind do not die so easily.” Solas said. “That is not a risk one could take lightly.”

“Why does being mortal matter so much?” Arethin asked. “Perhaps we are willing to take the risk.”

“It might affect your mind the same way the Anchor affects your body,” Solas said. “It would be very dangerous, and I do _not_ recommend it.”

“Could you take it?” Arethin asked Solas.

“No,” Solas said, his voice icy. “Do not ask me again.”

“As you wish,” Arethin raised her hands. “But I would hear why.”

“We have not the time.”

“Then you will explain it to me when we do.” She sighed and looked around. “Abelas,” Arethin said. “Could you take the Well?”

Abelas looked stricken, and the other Sentinels exchanged shocked and worried looks. “It would be—I am a guardian,” he said. “I cannot—I cannot bear--”

“You are already bound to her will,” Solas said. “None of us can take it, and you well know it.”

“I could--” Morrigan started.

“Don't,” Solas informed her frostily, and she glared at him. 

“Ah yes, I assume the great traitor has all the answers,” she sneered.

“You give legend the weight of history,” he informed her. “And if you do not trust me, perhaps trust what the guardians of the Well tell you. You should not use it.” he turned to Abelas. “Abelas. If you do not wish it to be destroyed--”

Abelas murmured in Elvhen to some of the other Sentinels, who all looked as worried as he did.

“What's the problem?” Sera demanded. “They're already here, what's the bloody issue? If they don't want anyone else gettin' it...”

“It is a matter of cultural taboos,” Solas explained. “They are guardians. Their job is to guard. Those who drink from the well are not guardians, and do not guard. It is one reason why we do not get along.”

“We must make a decision soon,” Arethin said. “Abelas? What do you say?”

Abelas took a deep breath. “I will drink from the Well,” he said. “Its knowledge shall not be lost, or tainted—though it is...incorrect.”

“Not all traditions are good ones, lethallin,” Solas said.

“You have made your opinion quite clear,” Abelas said. He and the other Sentinels glanced at each other. 

“Wait--” Arethin said. “After that—what will you do? You could help us--”

Abelas looked at Solas for a long moment, then looked to Arethin. 

“We will join your cause,” he said. “You seem to have accomplished a great deal. Those who earn Fen'harel's allegiance are either very capable or very foolhardy.”

“My thanks,” Arethin said, choosing to ignore that last adjective. “Now—hurry.”

Abelas nodded. “We might leave through that eluvian,” he pointed to a huge and ornate eluvian on the other side of the pond. “It has been locked for a very long time, but we know you have reactivated the network.” 

Arethin nodded. “Go to the well. Someone else, work on unlocking the mirror.”

Abelas stepped towards the Well, and one of the sentinels skirted around to go to the eluvian. The others stood on guard, waiting for Corypheus to come. 

The Well erupted into mist and shadow, a dark fog towering high over their heads, and everything was dark for a long moment. However, when it cleared, the water was gone, and Abelas was alone in an empty pool. He stumbled and fell to one knee.

Solas went to his side and hauled him up by one arm. 

“Is he alright?” Arethin asked coming to his other side. 

“He will be,” Solas said. Abelas' eyes rolled in his head and he clung to Solas and murmured in Elvhen under his breath. Solas responded in kind, and after a minute, Abelas' expression cleared, and he looked around.

“We need to leave,” he said. 

“I agree,” Arethin said. “How's that eluvian coming?”

The sentinel stepped back. It shone brilliant purple, clearly open. Arethin nodded. 

“Alright,” she said. “Everyone—let's go.” 

They dashed to the eluvian just as the dragon found the clearing, and one everyone was on the other side a sentinel slammed it closed.

The eluvian cracked and blackened, clear sign of someone damaging it from the other side.

Arethin grimaced. “I suppose Corypheus isn't very happy,” she said. She turned to Abelas. “Are you alright?” she asked.

Abelas nodded, and pushed Solas away to stand on somewhat shaky legs. “I am well enough,” he muttered. “So many memories are...difficult to bear. Many come from a time before I existed.”

“Very good,” Arethin said. “Come on—we need to get back to Skyhold, see what everyone thinks about this mess.”


	33. Do You Stand In Awe Of My Creations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some more abelas and magical theory

Returning to the Skyhold eluvian would take several hours, and Felassan immediately took the opportunity to badger Solas about turning the Qunari to stone.

“You could have killed yourself,” he fretted, speaking in Common for anyone who might happen to overhear. “Or Lavellan. More likely her—but it's not like you are exactly up to doing things like that, either!”

Solas glared at him. “Yet, here I am, perfectly well, as is she,” he said.

“Only because you're lucky,” Felassan insisted. Iron Bull overheard them and came over, listening intently. 

“Lavellan wished for me to assist her, and we had no time,” Solas said. “I could not endanger those who fought by our side.”

Felassan growled to himself. “ _You_ talk some sense into him,” he told Iron Bull. “I am clearly not to be listened to.”

“Felassan--” Solas sighed. 

“I am going to see if Lavellan is well,” he said pointedly. “Now that I'm sure you won't keel over.”

Felassan stalked off, leaving Bull and Solas alone.

“So...” Bull said. “You can turn people to stone.”

“Only under specific circumstances.”

“Is that so?”

Solas looked up at Bull. “Yes,” he said. He was still a bit pale, and he cast a worried glance to Arethin every once in a while. “Lavellan lent me strength. Felassan is correct—we could have hurt each other had all not gone well.”

Bull shook his head. “It's that kind of crap that makes magic seem really, really dangerous,” he said. 

“How is it more dangerous than the Qun's gaatlock, or their dreadnoughts?” Solas asked. “I cannot built a dreadnought. You cannot kill gaatlock, or any of the other chemicals that the Qunari use, but I can be killed.”

“Those things aren't part of you,” Bull pointed out. 

“Would you have preferred a long fight with the Qunari, and perhaps more of us hurt or killed?”

Bull scowled and shook his head. “That's not what I'm worried about.” 

“Then what is your concern?”

“Look—stuff like that—how do you know you can keep control over it?” Bull asked. “And what about people who aren't on our side—we have enough problems with normal mages...”

“Loss of control where magic is concerned is most dangerous in a young, untrained mage,” Solas said. “And even so, accidental spells are much less powerful than those that are intentional and focused.”

Bull didn't say anything, simply looked at him, his eye narrowed.

“Magic is part of me,” Solas said. “It cannot be made separate, nor safe, just as I cannot be made safe. Nor you.”

“Maybe if this had happened earlier,” Bull said. “I wouldn't be able to deal with it.”

“And now?” 

“I know it isn't separated from you, and it can't be. And it's you that I--” he cut himself off. He wrapped an arm around Solas and pulled him close.

“Are _you_ alright, Bull?” Solas asked. 

Bull snorted. “Fine,” he said. "Just fine.”

“Are you sure?” Solas frowned to himself. “We have spoken of my actions, but the Viddasala asked you to join her cause again.”

Bull smiled, and put a hand on Solas' shoulder. “There isn't anything she could say to me that would do anything, kadan,” he promised quietly. 

Solas covered Bull's hand with his own. “I am glad to hear that, vhenan.”

Felassan went to hover by Arethin's elbow, looking her over with a critical expression in his violet eyes. 

“Are you alright?”

Arethin glanced at Felassan, surprised. “Yes,” she said. “Just tired.”

Felassan shook his head with a frown.

“What is the problem?” Cassandra asked. 

“You really could have been hurt,” Felassan said. “You aren't made to carry that much power, and Solas still isn't in a shape to channel it. If you'd tried such a spell by yourself, you'd have blown your arm off _at best_.”

“Well, then it is good that we both did it, instead of doing it alone,” Arethin said. 

Felassan sighed. “Void take you both,” he said. “Simply because you are fine now--!”

“Felassan,” Arethin stopped him with a look. “Why is this so worrying to you now?”

“Do you know how much energy that takes?” Felassan demanded. “A mage might—oh, freeze an enemy, or stop her with rock, but that is not changing the totality of that enemy.”

“What of shapeshifting?” Arethin demanded. “You have no problem with that.”

“That turns one being of flesh and blood into another,” Felassan said. “A person is like a bird, or a bear, or a wolf—they have blood, they have bones, they are made up of similar things. But a person is not a rock, is not water or wood. And so many--” he shook his head. 

“And what would you have us do instead?” Arethin wanted to know.

“There were other ways,” Felassan insisted. “Blood magic could have puppeteered them long enough for us to get away--”

“None of us are blood mages, we don't have that kind of control.”

“Nor do you have control over the mark!” Felassan burst out. “You are not learned enough, and Solas is not strong enough.” he sighed. 

“Evidently, we are both things, as we were successful.”

“But if you try something like that again--”

“We shall not, except under dire circumstances,” Arethin said. “Does that satisfy you? I know the danger of the mark.” 

Felassan gave her one last glare, then sighed. “Very well,” he said. “But be careful.” he gave a halfhearted smile. “Where would we be if we lost the Dread Wolf _and_ the Mediator?”

“Nowhere good,” Cassandra agreed.

They learned later, after they returned to Skyhold, that the battle in the Wilds had been bloody. 

Corypheus himself had quit the field after the Well had been taken, but that did not stop the furious Venatori ravaging the Alliance's forces. When Arethin and her company returned to Skyhold, the Alliance forces began to retreat as well, but a great deal of damage was done to the temple and the surrounding ruins. 

Some of the Alliance had come across the remaining Sentinels, stragglers who had survived the attack but had not come through the eluvian. Most of them were confused, especially by Abelas' absence and the large and varied number of enemies. There were some accidents and at least two Sentinels had been killed by Alliance forces, after attacking them in the first place.

Abelas assured Arethin that this was a normal outcome, as the Sentinels were all extremely on-edge under the best of circumstances, but neither of them particularly liked it. 

“So,” Arethin said. “What are we to do next?”

Everyone was gathered in the meeting room (many people frequently shooting furtive looks at Abelas, who was still twitchy and pale from the Well). 

“The Qunari are cut off from the eluvian network,” Bull said. “So, that probably won't make them happy.”

“But they will have a harder time traveling,” Arethin pointed out. “How will the loss of the Viddasala affect them?”

Bull considered that. “She was the expert on magic,” he said. “Without her, they'll only have her apprentices and writings to try and counter it. She was in charge of a pretty large number of saarebas, too, and without her they'll have to do something about them. It'll take time.”

“So, we shall have more time to plan for their retaliation?”

“Exactly. You should start after Corypheus and the Venatori next.”

“Corypheus was kept from the Well,” Leliana said. “So he will likely be furious. We have defeated him twice before now—he will want to either strike back at us directly, or take a more underhanded approach to reach his goal.”

“It would make more sense to take an underhanded approach,” Cassandra said with a grimace. “Since we have shown we are a match for him.”

“Of course, there is the possibility that he will try to surprise us as he did at Haven,” Josephine pointed out. 

“The Venatori have largely pulled back,” Barris said, his brow knit in worry. “After the Wilds, most of them retreated. The Templars as well.”

“That bodes poorly,” Cassandra said. “If he is no longer focusing his efforts on attacking, then he must be consolidating his forces for something else.”

“We need to find out what his next step is, and quickly,” arethin said. 

Leliana would send out her scouts, as would the Dalish and the dwarves. Briala's people and Sera's Red Jennies would also try and find information. 

In the meantime, there was the question of what to do with the Sentinels. 

Since the people of Elvhenan were now a minority of fifty rather than a minority of two, the question of who exactly was to represent them came into play. At first, it was suggested that Solas and Felassan would do, as they had been doing, but that soon proved to be an issue of contention.

“The wolf does not represent _us_ ,” Abelas hissed when the question was brought up. He glared at Solas, who glared right back.

“I would not wish to impose,” Solas said, his tone icy.

“Of course not. That is not in your nature, is it? But I suppose turning from the All-mother and starting wars is a bit more than a mere _imposition_...”

“That is not what occurred and you are well aware of that.” 

Abelas snapped something in Elvhen, and Solas retorted in kind. Arethin only caught a few words, but their heated tones made their discussion quite clear. 

“Enough,” Arethin said. “Clearly this is going to be a problem.”

“We have made our alliance,” Abelas said. “That will not change.”

“That's not exactly what I meant.” 

“The Alliance already has a somewhat dubious reputation, especially considering that we have someone who we claim is an Elvhen god sitting at our table,” Josephine said. “Adding your people to the mix all of a sudden might be...volatile.” 

“I don't know,” Ambassador Yara piped up. “It might actually help the Dalish opinion. Anyone who wasn't swayed before will be now.”

“Perhaps, but even with Empress Giuseppina, our reputation with the Orlesian people is tenuous, at best, even more so now that the Dales are out of their control,” Leliana said. 

Bann Teagan nodded. “I have already begun to hear rumors of dark magics,” he said. “Nothing well-founded, and with the Grand Enchanter and the Warden-Commander both being heroes of the Blight, our people are more than comfortable with magic, but the fact remains that your people look strange to most others,” he nodded at Abelas. 

Abelas frowned and folded his arms. 

“Perhaps,” he said. “Yours seem just as strange to us.” he looked at Arethin. “We could ally with you in secret,” he said. “We need make no outward move to join with you. Surely the shemlen cannot tell one elf from another, they never could before.”

“But our people must know that you are here,” Yara sat up. “Many of the Dalish do not trust the word of Fen'harel, of course, and so many of the city elves are not certain that we will succeed.”

“But what of the others?” Barris said. “The Chantry is still quarreling over its involvement, this will only worsen it.”

Cassandra nodded. “Many of the Grand Clerics still argue over the next Divine. No one has even come forward with any suggestions, and this might well cut us off entirely.” 

“At this point, does the Chantry's opinion truly matter?” Vhelan asked. 'I don't mean to be harsh, but your Inquisition is the only true power left in the Chantry, and you are a part of the Alliance. What can the Grand Clerics do, apart from ague a great deal? They orchestrated their own collapse.”

“There is the possibility that they will organize against us,” Cassandra said. “If the Inquisition cannot rebuild the Chantry in the correct manner--”

“What does your shemlen church matter?” Abelas demanded. “The poisoned creature is your truest problem.”

“We must consider what comes after we defeat Corypheus,” Cassandra said, scowling at him. 

Abelas sighed. “If you wish, I shall be here to inform you of the interests of the other Sentinels,” he said. “I need not have any other involvement. Your world is too alien for our people to become involved with.” he shot another glare at Solas.

“Very well,” Arethin said. “Regardless of the status of the Chantry, I believe we have more pressing things to consider. We shall find Corypheus as soon as we can. What of the Veil?”

“Its deterioration has not stopped since the last time we spoke,” Solas said, eyebrows raised. 

Everyone except for Arethin looked uncomfortable.

“The Veil? What do you mean to do to it?” Abelas asked, now looking more intrigued than angry.

“We are meaning to remove it,” Arethin stared around at the others, as if daring them to contradict her. 

“A wise idea,” Abelas said. “Unusual, considering the source. The Veil cannot stand.”

“Can we not repair it?” Cassandra asked. “Is there truly no way?”

“I would not advise it.”

“The Veil was only able to be constructed in the world before its existence,” Solas said. “There is simply not enough access to magic to repair it on a wide scale, and I would advise against it.”

Abelas nodded. “That thing destroys as thoroughly as a disease,” he said, lip curled in disgust. 

“While you are claiming this, my dear, what would the world without the Veil even look like?” Vivienne drawled.

“Real,” Abelas said. “This world is one of shadows and smoke. It is not real.” 

“And how are you so very certain of that?”

“I was born in a world that was real,” Abelas said, his pale eyes flicking to her face. “This imitation is less than a dream.” 

“Keep in mind, we need to be careful about removing the Veil,” Arethin said, looking at Solas. “Destroying it without knowing what we were doing would make the situation even worse.”

“You are the one who has the ability to change the Veil,” Solas said, gesturing to the anchor on her hand. “Ultimately, the choice is yours.” 

“I suggest you make your choice soon,” Abelas said, folding his arms. “That magic is eating you.”

“I already knew about that,” Arethin assured him. “That's the other reason I'd want to take the Veil down.”

Abelas nodded in agreement.


	34. We Knew The Universe When It Was Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only a few more chapters left, folks!
> 
> flemeth makes an appearance this week

Cassandra and Arethin were in bed together when Cassandra asked a question that had been bothering her since the meeting earlier that day. 

“Arethin?” Cassandra asked. “What did he mean, the mark is eating you?” 

“Oh,” Arethin held up her hand. “Mortals—can't really handle this much magic. If I go on too long with it, it will kill me.”

Cassandra sat up. “What?” 

“But, if we take the Veil down, my body might adapt,” Arethin said. “Or at least someone will have enough magic to help me with it.” 

“Arethin--!” Cassandra grabbed her hand. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“We could amputate my hand,” Arethin said. 

“Then why--?”

“Cassandra, think about it!” Arethin exclaimed. “In a world with the Veil, I'll die of too much magic. But in a world without the Veil, I'd have a better chance. Doesn't that mean the Veil is bad, not the magic?”

Cassandra looked dubious. 

Arethin sighed. “Before we do anything, we need to kill Corypheus,” she said. “I'd have a hard time doing that with one hand.”

“I...suppose you are right,” Cassandra sighed. “Although with the variety of things Dagna has been able to make...”

Arethin laughed. “I suppose she could rig me up a new hand.” she quieted. “But I still think it's more...a symptom than a cause. A...an elf like Solas or Abelas or the Sentinels would at least be able to carry the mark without dying of it.”

“Your people are not their people,” Cassandra reminded her. She frowned. “They have made that quite clear.”

“No. They were born without an imposition on them.” Arethin scowled at the mark. “Whatever Solas meant to do by creating the Veil, it hurt us too deeply. Humans too, I think, but I don't know for certain.” 

“It is strange—humans were here during the days of Arlathan, at least, according to the stories,” Cassandra eyed the mark. “But we do not have any tales of there being a time before the Veil.” 

Arethin shrugged. “Maybe it wasn't as important to you as it was to Elvhenan.”

Cassandra pursed her lips. “Maybe...”

The Sentinels had a habit of making people very nervous. They were extremely quiet, and mostly kept to themselves, but lurked around Skyhold in full armor. They had staked off one of the more crumbling towers to live in, and slowly began to rebuild it, mostly ignoring everyone unless prodded.

They did not seem to sleep, and they terrorized the cooking staff simply by wandering through the kitchens at odd hours. One or two liked to lurk in the library, scoffing at the books and annoying the occupants. 

Felassan and Solas avoided them. Abelas and Solas clearly had some past history they didn't want to get into, and Felassan proclaimed them 'stuck up soldiers with weird eyes,' so the two groups stayed separated. 

“So, how do you feel about having all these people like you around?” Arethin asked Solas, curious about this phenomena. “Better, or worse?”

“They are...not entirely like me,” Solas said.

“How so?”

“They are Mythal's guardians. We parted ways some time ago.”

“And what is the difference?”

“We never had the most easy of alliances.” 

“Why not?”

Solas sighed and leaned back. “A very, very long time ago, I served at Mythal's side—not as they did, but I was one of her people.”

“Ah,” Arethin bit her lip. “I suppose the whole thing where you fought every last one of the Evanuris at the same time probably annoyed the rest of her people, then?”

“Yes.”

According to Solas, the guardians were not the most reliable of allies. They had never fought against Fen'harel's armies, but often they could not really be counted on to help. Mythal's goals ran counter to Fen'harel's almost as often as they ran alongside each other.

“And yet, she was still the Evanuris it was easiest to cooperate with,” Solas said with a slight sigh. “She was...a friend.”

“If she was a friend, why wasn't your alliance stable? What did she want that you didn't?” Arethin looked at him, fascinated. 

Solas shrugged. “I wanted to change the system of the Evanuris entirely. She did not. She thought they could be saved.”

“And you disagreed.” 

“Yes.” he rested his chin on his hand. “It matters little now. The fact remains that the Sentinels and I have fundamental disagreements.” 

“Is it possible that others like them survived uthenera?”

“Possible, but unlikely. They would need to be well-hidden, and there is no set amount of time within which to wake up. Some never wake up at all.”

“And others of your people?”

Solas looked away. He never liked talking about the fates of his people. “It is...possible. But not likely.”

It was some days after the temple that the dragon came. It circled high above Skyhold, larger than the average dragon. It began to draw attention, but it neither attacked, flew lower, nor flew away. It was not Corypheus' dragon, of course, and its strange behavior quite quickly invited attention. Many of the inhabitants of Skyhold came out to the courtyard to watch the dragon, murmuring anxiously among themselves.

“What's that doing here?” Arethin asked, scowling and raising her staff.

“Don't,” Solas said, holding a hand out.

“Why not?” Arethin asked. 

“It is not hostile,” he said. 

“How do you know?”

“Taking dragon shape is a feat accomplished by very few mages,” he said. “But some can manage it.”

“That's a person?”

“Indeed. I suggest you let her land.”

“How will we tell her it's alright?”

“I can do that.”

“No,” Abelas appeared beside Solas, and several of the other Sentinels came out wherever they had been lurking to join him. “We will.”

Solas inclined his head, and a light appeared in Abelas' palm. He raised his arm high, the light growing steadily brighter and brighter. The dragon took notice, and began to descend.

The dragon came to ground with a surprisingly soft landing. She tucked her wings and tail in so that they did not strike anything, a remarkable show of conscientiousness coming from the beast. A golden glow swirled around the dragon, and then in a burst of blinding light that had all of them covering her eyes, the dragon was gone, and in its place was a woman. 

The woman was tall, very tall, her long white hair swept away from her face and formed into horns like dragon's horns. Her round ears indicated she was human, but her brilliant eyes and strong nose indicated something else entirely. She wore a dragonskin tunic over silver armor, and she smelled like brimstone and magic. Her golden eyes shone, and she smiled as she looked around at them all.

Everyone stared right back at her, unsure what to make of this new development.

At length, Morrigan, who had come out to view the proceedings, stepped forward, Surana right behind her. 

“Mother,” she breathed. 

“That's your mother?” Arethin asked.

“Flemeth,” Surana growled. 

“Flemeth?”

“No,” Solas said with a slight sigh. “Mythal. The All-mother.”

Abelas sunk to one knee before the woman, his head bowed, as did the rest of the Sentinels.

“Enough of that,” Mythal said, her voice gentle. “I am not what I once as. And you, my guardians, are not what you once were.”

Abelas glanced up at her, his eyes wide. Gently, she touched his chin, tilting his head up. She guided him to his feet, and the other Sentinels followed his lead. 

“All-mother--” Abelas started, then stopped. 

“Worry not,” she said. “I have come to see many people, you among them.” Mythal turned her golden gaze on Solas. “My friend,” she said. “I see you have been making trouble, as always.”

“It is...a longstanding habit,” Solas admitted.

“You know each other?” Arethin demanded. “Why does everyone know her except for me?”

“Don't blame me,” Surana said. “I thought she was a crazy woman who lived out in a swamp.”

Abelas and the other Sentinels began to glower, and Arethin figured she should probably cut this off before it got worse.

“Why are you here?” Arethin asked.

“You are a nexus,” Mythal said. “And I always appreciate the kind of person who can draw others to them so strongly.”

Solas snorted.

Mythal looked at him, and he looked back at her. 

“There was a plan,” Mythal said. “But you have thrown it into chaos. Congratulations. Few people are able to accomplish that.” she smirked. “Except, of course, my dear friend here.” she gestured to Solas. 

“What plan was this?” Morrigan demanded.

“We have the same goals, you and I,” Mythal said, looking at Arethin, her grin sharp. “Well...some of the same goals. We both wish the Veil to be taken down.” her eyes flicked to Solas again. 

“They would never have stopped,” Solas said softly.

“I know,” Mythal assured him. “But neither will they die, locked away as they are. You have only doomed the world to slow suffocation.”

Solas looked away.

“However,” Mythal said. “We might correct that. You have been looking for a way to slay Corypheus, and the answer to the problem. I might give you assistance in both matters.”

“How?” Arethin asked.

“Assistance?” Morrigan laughed. “I would hardly call anything you do _assisting_.”

Mythal rolled her eyes. “In the Golden City, there is a way to remove the Veil,” she said. “Carefully.”

“Is that so?” Arethin watched her, her fingers clenched tightly around her staff. “And how might that be done?”

“It involves that pretty thing on your hand,” Mythal pointed. 

Involuntarily, Arethin glanced down at the mark on her hand. 

“But you alone cannot do it,” she said. “You must go with the one who put it there to begin with.”

Arethin looked at Solas. 

Mythal inclined her head. “Yes, I see the shape of it takes form in your mind. You have worked together before. You can do it for this.”

“And I suppose you stand to benefit a great deal from this?' Morrigan demanded.

“We all do, my dear.”

“And why have you chosen now to come?” Cassandra asked, speaking up for the first time. 

“What I had wanted before now cannot be done,” Mythal said. “So changes must be made.”

“You know how to help?” Arethin asked.

A slow grin spread across Mythal's face. “Indeed I do.” she looked at Kitranna and Morrigan. “First, a consequence: your son is involved in this.”

“Kieran?” Surana exclaimed. “How?” 

“He carries the soul of one of the Evanuris,” Mythal explained. 

“Evanuris?” Kitranna blinked. “Like you?”

Mythal inclined her head. “The Veil trapped their souls in the Fade, and when they tried to escape, the Veil shredded them,” she said. “So they became the Archdemons. And your son is carrying one.”

Kitranna and Morrigan glanced at each other, worried. 

“What does this mean?” Arethin asked. 

“If the Veil were to be removed, it is possible the Evanuris soul within him would...react to it,” Solas said, leveling an unimpressed look at Mythal. “I assume you did not intend for a mortal child to carry such a thing?”

Mythal sighed. “No, if Morrigan had _cooperated_ , I would have been able to do something about it sooner,” she said. 

Kitranna snorted. “Yeah, like possess her. That's real helpful.”

“A soul is never forced on the unwilling.”

“No, you merely would have desired to coerce me into it,” Morrigan snapped. “You are not coming near our son.” 

Mythal frowned, actually looking regretful for a moment. “Too much time spent with it will hurt him, especially when the Veil is removed,” she said. “He might be elf-blooded, but it is mortal blood, not enough to sustain an Evanuris soul.”

Kitranna glared at her. 

“We never noticed that it was harming him,” Morrigan said. 

“Not at this point, no. He's still very young. But it will, in the future.”

Kitranna and Morrigan looked at each other again, before Kitranna nodded.

“If it'll hurt him, we have to get rid of it,” Kitranna said. 

Morrigan narrowed her eyes at Mythal, before inclining her head. “Very well,” she said. “Let us fix this problem now.”

“As you wish.” 

“Wait,” before the three of them could leave, Arethin had a question. “How come you look human?”

“My old body, my Elvhen body, was destroyed long ago,” Mythal explained, not seeming very put out by the delay. “I am not as fortunate as my old friends are.” she nodded at Solas and Abelas. “I needed a new one—one who could carry an Evanuris, but one that could also be...overlooked. An old human witch is far less concerning than an elf of any variety—and the woman who let me in carried such...rage with her.” Flemeth smiled, her golden eyes catching the light in a disconcerting way.

“And why is it that you have been so...unconcerned with the rest of my people?” Arethin asked. 

“Simply because you cannot see the whole plan does not mean one does not exist,” Mythal said with a shrug. “I have never been given to overt displays, not like certain others I could mention,” her gaze slid to Solas. 

Arethin frowned. “I see.”

Morrigan and Kitranna didn't want to worry Kieran by having a whole crowd of people watch whatever it was Flemeth (for she could only ever be Flemeth to Morrigan and Kitranna) was going to do, so they gave the four of them some privacy. Solas assured Arethin that Flemeth was mostly trustworthy, or at least, he had an idea of which way she would jump.

Morrigan and Kitranna explained to Kieran about the situation, and Kieran was rather curious about the whole affair. 

Kieran stared at Flemeth when he met her, fascinated by her armor and brilliant eyes. Morrigan stood on one side of him, Kitranna on the other. 

“My mothers don't like you,” he said, glancing at Kitranna, then back to Flemeth.

“I daresay not,” Flemeth agreed, golden eyes darting to Morrigan's face and back. “Do you know who I am?”

“You're my grandmother.”

“Precisely, my boy.” Flemeth kneeled down before him. “and I have come to take something I need from you.”

“Take what?” he tilted his head to one side. Morrigan reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Is there a voice, that whispers in your mind?”

“Sometimes.”

“And strange dreams?”

Kieran nodded.

“You're carrying...someone I know.”

“You don't like her,” Kieran said. 

“No. I don't.”

“Then why do you want her?”

Flemeth put a hand on Kieran's head, stroking his dark hair. Morrigan scowled. “Once, I needed her. Now I likely will need her, but it is not certain. And I cannot let her stay with you. It would hurt you too much.”

Kieran nodded. “That's what you told Mama and Mamae.”

“Indeed it is.” she removed her hand from his hair and held it out to him instead. “So. Will you give her to me?”

Kieran looked up at her. At length, he nodded. She smiled at him.

“Thank you.” 

There was a burst of brilliant light, so bright that Flemeth and Kieran were lost amidst it, and then it slowly died.

Morrigan snatched Kieran away from Flemeth. “What did you do?” she hissed.

“Only what I promised,” Flemeth assured her. 

“No more dreams?” Kieran stared up at her.

Flemeth smiled. “No more dreams.”

He scratched the side of his head.

“Now will you leave?” Morrigan demanded.

“Of course,” Flemeth said. “I have but two more things to do. Fortunately, as far as you are concerned, they do not involve you.”

Kitranna pulled Kieran closer to her.

“It's alright, Mamae,” he told her. 

“Well, maybe you think so,” she informed him, watching as Flemeth turned to leave. “But I'm not so sure.”

The Sentinels and Mythal gathered in their tower. Abelas stood at the forefront of the group, eyes averted from Mythal's.

“My guardians,” Mythal murmured, eyes flicking over the Sentinels. “You stood watch for so long.”

“Of course,” Abelas said. 

“And you took the Well, I see.”

Abelas went, if possible, even paler.

Mythal smiled. “Have no fear,” she said. “You have only done what was needed.”

“And—shall we join you, then?”

Mythal shook her head. “You are free of your duty,” she told them. “Do as you wish.”

Abelas stared at her. 

“Things as they were will not return,” Mythal said. “So. We will change. We must change.”

“All-mother--”

“Not anymore. We must all change—you as well as I.” 

She left her Sentinels, now their own Sentinels and Guardians. None of them had wanted to see her go, but she was no longer the person they had served.

And at last, Mythal went to see Solas.

They watched each other without speaking at first. He looked different than she remembered him being, somehow both older and younger. Her last memory was of him covered in blood, clutching a sword, hair matted with gore, eyes blazing with rage. Seeing him without armor (or hair, for that matter) was a bit strange. He was calmer now, anger confined to a quiet glow about his person rather than being the all-consuming thing it had once been. 

His own memories of the last time they saw each other were hazy, at best. He distinctly recalled how her body had been struck with poisoned arrows, torched by magical fire—the enemies of any Evanuris had to make absolutely sure the body died. 

The body she wore only looked a little like her old one. The human blood in her made her face look strange, but those golden eyes were the same as they had ever been. 

“I see that both of our plans have changed,” she told him at last. 

He inclined his head. “Yes.”

They stood in silence for several moments. “I suppose there is no other way,” she said at last.

“Perhaps. But I promised to try this way first.” 

“And the promises you give to the Mediator override what I am owed?”

He looked at her, and she looked back at him, then sighed.

“I suppose that is only fair.”

“She is an unknown,” he said. “I will not do terrible things if there are alternatives to be had.”

Mythal's lips thinned into a line. “I suppose,” she said. “Does her way still further your goals? It must.”

“I would take no action that did not.”

She gave him a bare smile. “Your reputation is well-earned.”

He didn't quite flinch at that, but he wanted to, and she sighed. 

“I did not mean to drag you into this,” she said, for that was what she had done. She had never intended all this, of course, but one never did. 

He had been an artist, when she had first met him. A reclusive, spirit-born child, barely twenty and already brimming with the magic of dreams. 

“I made my own choices,” he said. “You merely supplied the avenues by which to take them.”

She laughed. “I suppose that is true,” she said. “If we're to blame anyone, I'll blame my own mother. Dratted woman died and left me with her position.”

“I could not say,” Solas raised his eyebrows. “I was not there.” 

Mythal sighed. “No, you weren't.” everyone who had been in there in her youth was long gone. She was old by the time Fen'harel had come to upset the Evanuris' games—she had been the first of all of them. “Farewell, my friend,” Mythal told Solas. “This could have gone very, very badly. Remember that.”

Solas only nodded.

Arethin, Solas and Abelas went to see Mythal off when she left. They'd cleared a spot for her in the courtyard, so she could take off in dragon shape.

“So, I take my leave,” Mythal said. 

“Are you certain?” Arethin asked. “Your Sentinels and your daughter are here, and we could use your help.”

“Yes, I am certain. You have my friend here, and you could do better than this old meddler.” with one last elusive grin, she collected light around her like a cape, and in a moment there stood a dragon instead of a woman.

The dragon winged over the mountain and vanished behind it. 

Arethin shook her head as she watched. 

“What an odd woman.”

“Does it not concern you, that she is Mythal?” Solas asked. 

“Not really,” Arethin shrugged. “Maybe others.” she shot a grin at Solas. “At least the two of you are more invested than Andraste.” she paused. “Don't tell Cassandra I said that. It'd give her a migraine.”

From his expression, she was giving him a migraine too, with talk like that, but all he did was sigh. “It is...unfortunate that she chose not to stay.”

“Maybe,” Arethin looked up again, to where Mythal had flown off to. “But we have our own tricks. I don't know if we need hers, too.”


	35. In My Arms Lies Eternity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming up on the last few chapters, folks!
> 
> calpurnia makes a cameo appearance, because i just couldn't let her founder--she's too cool

Some weeks after Mythal's visit, they finally had some information about Corypheus. 

“We have some news about where Corypheus has gone,” Leliana said, as they were all gathered in the war room. So many people had come to join the Alliance that their war room meetings were becoming extremely crowded. “If we know that, we can do what Mythal suggested.”

“Good,” Arethin nodded. “What is it?”

Leliana hesitated for a moment. “Aenoar,” she told her at last. “He's gone to Aeonar.”

“What?” Cassandra exclaimed. “What possible purpose--”

“The Veil is thin there,” Leliana said. “Demons and spirits stalk the halls. If he can reach the Fade, go to the Black City--”

“It would be there,” Cassandra said, a look of dawning horror crossing her face. “If he cannot succeed here, he will succeed there.”

“What is Aeonar?” Arethin asked, pulling up a map. 

Leliana pointed to a spot far to the north, 

“A prison,” she explained. “For Templars and Sisters who have broken the laws of the Chantry.”

Fiona scowled.

“And mages?” Arethin asked.

“Some mages would be sent there,” Leliana said.

“Maleficarum and blood mages who were not dead or Tranquil,” Cassandra said. “But not many.”

“No,” Vivienne agreed. “I believe that would have been too dangerous to do.”

“Lambert sent people to investigate Aeonar after the battle in Val Royeaux,” Leliana said, her brow furrowed. “But he found nothing.”

Fiona sat up straighter. “That makes no sense,” she said.

“Nothing?” Arethin asked. “What do you mean?”

“The fortress was deserted,” Cassandra explained. “It is possible that Corypheus had been there before, and recruited mages and Templars from its ranks.”

“Aeonar was a Tevinter fortress at first,” Leliana said. “It is quite possible that he knew about it beforehand.”

“And if he can't go back to Haven—or come here--”

“Precisely. A place familiar to him where the Veil would be thin.”

“Then we have to go there,” Arethin said.

“If we are to attack Corypheus himself, we must have a plan,” Cassandra said.

“How will we kill that dragon?” Arethin asked. “We tried before--”

“I have never been given towards shapeshifting,” Abelas said. “However, I might give one who is the knowledge to use dragon's wings.”

Morrigan looked up. “Shapeshifting is a skill of mine,” she said. 

Abelas curled his lip, brow furrowed. “You are the lady Mythal's daughter,” he said. “So it is only...acceptable.”

Morrigan gave a chilly smirk. “My sire was an elf, if that pleases you.”

Abelas' face grew more sour. “It does not, but that is of little consequence.”

The closest eluvian to Aeonar was a full week away, and there was only the one. The majority of the eluvians were in the south and in Ferelden, so they simply had to make do with this one. 

In order to attack the fortress, the Alliance needed to muster up a great many of their forces, recalling them from the Wilds and sending them north. This would take some time, but fortunately, Corypheus was more handicapped than they were, as he had no eluvian access.

Empress Giuseppina sent Orlesian troops, Queen Aeducan sent her people, and King Alistair sent Fereldens. Vivienne and Fiona's mages were both a part of the effort, as well as just about everyone else that the Alliance could throw at the problem.

The fortress was surrounded by Corypheus' people, the scattered remains of Templars and Venatori. 

The dragon immediately moved to attack them first, bringing with it that disgusting spell of rot and death. However, they had something that Corypheus had not anticipated:   
Morrigan flew in dragon shape overhead, to collide with the thing. Abelas had been successful in teaching her dragon shape, as she was the only shapeshifter experienced enough to pull off such a feat. 

Surana, who came with them in spite of the danger of Corypheus affecting her Tainted blood, watched the two dragons battle with a nervous expression on her face.

The prison loomed over them all, gargantuan and sick-feeling. It was so large that it blocked out the view of the moons in the sky, and doubtless cast a massive shadow when it was daylight. 

Arethin shuddered as they walked inside. 

Aeonar was enormous. It was a sprawling labyrinthine nightmare where the Fade pressed through. 

Cole appeared at Arethin's elbow. “It's loud,” he whispered.

“It...is,” Arethin admitted. 

It wasn't actually loud, not in a way that carried sound. But the press of souls upon the Veil sounded like a heartbeat thrumming in her ears, shaking her bones. Beyond the walls of Aeonar, they could see lights, where there were clearly people occupying it.

“There are many spirits and demons in this place,” Cassandra said softly. “It was used by the Tevinters as ground for...experimentation.”

“Experimentation?”

“Toying with magic. They damaged the Fade in a way that little else could, or so I understand it.”

They continued forward, through the many twisting corridors and winding rooms. The sound of battle continued, and Arethin was never more grateful for the army that stood at her back. There were few Venatori left to deal with. They battled through the fortress, but it seemed that Corypheus' forces had been thinned out from the fight in the Wilds, and they had little trouble making their way deep inside.

However, there was one obstacle that had been unexpected. They came to a room where a lone mage had felled all the soldiers before her. She caught sight of them and scowled.

“You,” the woman snarled, her eyes landing on Arethin. “Thief—you will ruin all!”

Arethin held out her hand. “Maybe,” she said. “And mayhaps I shall fix it.”

The woman circled them, twirling her staff in one hand. Her eyes flicked to Dorian. “You—traitor,” she snarled. “Alexius asked you to be a part of us, but you refused him.”

“Oh, yes, how could I refuse an offer such as this?” Dorian rolled his eyes. “A cult that worships a Blighted man and enjoys hanging about in ruined fortresses.”

“He will be a new god,” the woman spat. “A direction for this rudderless world.”

“Do you two know each other?” Arethin asked.

Dorian shook his head. The woman laughed.

“Of course you don't know me,” she said. “How could a member of House Pavus see a Liberati mage?” 

“Liberati?” Dorian's face fell. “Then you, of all people, should know why Corypheus can't be allowed to do this!”

“Why? So someone else can have power instead?” she shook her head. “So the world will fall into chaos, and mages will be trampled like they have been in the south, or by the Qunari? Never.”

“We don't want to do that,” Dorian insisted.

The woman tossed her head. “Aye? Then what would you have instead—have us under the bootheel of those _elves_?”

“Enough,” Arethin said. “We have not the time for this.”

“I fear you are right,” Dorian said sadly. He raised his staff, and the woman was surrounded by a magical field that prevented her escape. She threw herself against the barrier, but to her shock, she couldn't pass it.

She stared at Dorian, wild-eyed.

He smiled. “I learned a trick or two when I was in Alexius' company,” he informed her. “Lavellan, we should move on.”

They came to a chamber where the ceiling had been blasted off at some point, and the sounds of fighting became much clearer. It seemed that the closer they came to Corypheus, the more Venatori there were.

Morrigan and the other dragon tumbled through the sky overhead, slashing at each other with vicious strikes.

Arethin glanced up with a grimace, and then horror when the other dragon savagely tore through one of Morrigan's wings.

Morrigan plummeted from the sky, and Surana let out a stricken cry. Morrigan landed hard on the ground, and Surana bolted towards Morrigan's body, while Arethin and the others went to Corypheus' dragon.

Morrigan had left her own mark on the dragon. It was not flying right, one of its wings at an odd angle.

Arrows struck the dragon, and several spells.

“Aim for its wing!” Arethin pointed to the damaged wing, and more spells were hurled at it. 

The dragon fell at last, crashing to the ground. For one moment, Arethin held out hope that the dragon was dead, and they had killed it. 

Then it twitched. 

“Oh, no,” Arethin breathed. 

The dragon got to its feet, its wings broken but it was still clearly going strong. They advanced on the thing, very carefully, and it spat fire sporadically. Only some of the mages could get anywhere near it, and arrows glanced off its hide. 

However, spells that used enough force could pierce the thing's thick skin, and the mages advanced, backed up with some potions thrown by the various rogues that were assisting.

Fortunately, as it had no assistance from Corypheus and was already injured from the fall, the dragon was able to be deafeted. Finally, the dragon lay dead. 

“Morrigan?” Arethin called, and spotted Kitranna helping a very human Morrigan on the other side of the battlefield.

Morrigan pressed a hand to her side with a wince. 

“How are you doing?” Arethin asked.

“I am alive,” Morrigan croaked. “Hurry, now—he is casting his spell, and he will not stop for anything.”

“Where is he? Did you see him?” 

Morrigan pointed to a set of stairs on the opposite side of the chamber, and Arethin and the others rushed over. 

Up the stairs they went, to a massive tower that loomed over the rest of the prison. The Veil was thin and weak, everything feeling wobbly and unreal. 

At the top of the tower they found Corypheus. 

With a wave of his hand, he flung them back, but Arethin clung to the railing at the top of the stairs.

“I will not allow you to ruin this again, pretender!” Corypheus snarled.

Corypheus held up the orb. The light from the orb grew brighter as Corypheus did whatever he was attempting to do, and Arethin cursed as she felt everything slide around them. Several malformed Rifts opened and closed, spitting out the odd demon before slamming shut again. Almost everyone was thrown back or forced back, but Arethin managed to hang onto a stone outcropping. 

The Veil was rupturing, the very air around them feeling sick and wounded. Arethin grabbed at the Veil with the mark, tried to pull it this way and that, manipulate it around the orb. She had to get to the thing to do this right, or so Mythal had said.

She dragged herself closer to Corypheus, using the stone of the tower as leverage. Behind her, Cassandra and Solas did the same thing. 

Corypheus hissed to see them doing so.

“No,” he growled. “This will not be denied me!”

He raised his hand, the orb crackling with light. 

Solas reached out a hand, and grabbed Arethin's wrist. 

“ _Don't_ \--”

The world went white.


	36. What was Once A Place Of Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> penultimate!

Arethin could see nothing, could feel nothing around her. Her mark hummed absently, and there was a strange sensation traveling up her arm, as if she dipped it into a pool of cool water. 

Gradually, she came to the realization that she lay on the ground. She blinked. The sky overhead was a curious golden-green color, shimmering and dreamlike. The sensation of cool water traveled up her arm and to her chest, and she felt something like a great release of tension.

“Arethin?”

She blinked. “Cassandra?” 

Cassandra stood over her, silhouetted by the golden-green sky. 

“Are you alright?” Cassandra asked, her brow knitted in concern.

“I'm fine,” Arethin reached out a hand. “Help me up.” she looked around. She was somewhere completely unfamiliar. Around them, huge buildings of black stone rose high over their heads. The buildings were massive, large enough to be the kind of constructions one normally saw in the Deep Roads, but the sky overhead disproved that. 

Arethin shook her head. “Where is everyone?” she asked. 

“We are the only ones here,” Solas appeared on her other side. “I suspect we were the only ones close enough to be caught in the blast from the orb.”

“Is that what happened?” Arethin rubbed her head, then stretched her marked arm. “I feel...strange.”

“Your mark might be affecting you,” Solas said.

“Why? Where are we?'

“The Black City.” 

Arethin blinked at him. “I'm sorry,” she said. “Did I hear you right? Did you say we were in the Black City?” she looked overhead, but could not see the familiar silhouette of the Black City in the sky of the Fade.

“The Black City,” Cassandra whispered. She grabbed Arethin's hand. “Arethin--”

“We'll be alright,” Arethin assured her. “Solas?” 

“We must find Corypheus,” Solas said. “Before he makes this damage even worse.”

“Oh—right,” Arethin nodded. “If we are here, then where is he?”

“Presumably searching for the center of the city,” Solas said. “Looking for some source of power.”

They began to walk. Solas seemed to know the streets fairly well, as he strode forward with confidence. Arethin still felt that strange sensation as if her arm were immersed in cool water, and though she had never walked the streets before, they felt oddly familiar under her feet. 

The city had buildings and streets and statues, the same as any other city. There were signs, and businesses, and even what looked like trees or flowers. Huge statues that represented people (all elves) or dragons or other animals decorated the buildings or stood free-standing in the middle of the street.

The only thing was that it was all utterly black, with a reflectionless surface, like that of old velvet. Even decorations and writing were carved in deepest black, making them difficult to distinguish. 

“Why is everything black?” Arethin asked. “Do you know?”

“This place was used to try and contain a Blight,” Solas said. “Before the Veil was put into place.”

“The Blight?” Arethin asked, exchanging a worried look with Cassandra.

Solas nodded. “The blood of a dead Titan is blighted,” he explained. “This was one last defense.” 

Now _there_ was a lengthy story.

"A...Titan?" Arethin wrinkled her nose. She had heard the name before, but she wasn't sure where. 

"Those are...legends," Cassandra frowned. "Dwarven legends, yes?"

Solas nodded. "Yes. They were one thing the Evanuris made war on. It went disastrously." he didn't seem inclined to share any more details.

“Should we fear for the Blight?” Cassandra asked.

Solas shook his head. “I believe it is mostly in the physical world, not the Fade,” he said. “Quarantining it here was supposed to render it harmless, as it is a physical disease.”

“But...?” Arethin asked.

“If the quarantine was ever broken, the Blight would escape,” Solas said. “And I suspect Corypheus and the other magisters who visited this place were the ones to break the quarantine.”

“And what about us?” Arethin asked. 

Solas shrugged. “The seal was already broken long ago. Clearly, this measure was not effective.” he scowled. “The Blight is not something one outsmarts.”

“Did anyone live here?” Cassandra asked, looking around.

“Once,” Solas explained. “But that was long before I knew the place. It was one of the oldest cities in Elvhenan—but when I was born, it was already considered a relic. That is why it holds the center of so many powerful things. It was commonly believed to be the first city of Elvhenan, however, whether that is actually true or not, I cannot know for certain.”

“When we find Corypheus, what are we going to do?” Arethin asked the two of them. It was unlikely that the three of them alone would be able to kill him, when all their other efforts had failed, and they all knew it.

“Can you use your mark in some way?” Cassandra suggested.

“Hopefully, we can reclaim the orb,” Solas said. 

“But what if we can't?” she asked. “What if he becomes a god, like he said?”

“There is a good chance that he has no true idea of what he would do once he arrived here,” Solas said. “But there is a place he might see as very important.”

“Where?” 

“Elgar'nan's thone,” Solas' expression soured at that, and they continued on, faster now. 

The streets grew wider as they went further into the center of the city, but still they did not see Corypheus, nor hear any spellwork being done. The Veil felt strange and solid here. Although there was not the sense of anxiety that there was in the realm of the nightmare demon, the further they walked, the more unnerving the quiet became. There were no spirits here, friendly or otherwise. When one looked at the sky, one could see in the distance land masses and bodies of water, but all equally far away. 

They came to the end of one broad street that opened into a huge clearing surrounded by trees with black trunks and black leaves. 

On the ground, the broken pieces of the orb lay, the only thing of color in the entire city. Though the pieces were gray-green, drained of power, they still had more color than anything surrounding them. Solas kneeled down and picked the pieces up in his hand, shaking his head.

“Can we fix it?” Arethin asked.

“No,” Solas said, getting to his feet and setting the pieces down. “No, we cannot.”

“Then what do we do?”

“Become acquainted with our surroundings. And find Corypheus.” 

“And then what?”

“Just as we are without the orb, so is he,” despite his words, Solas' face was creased in worry, as was Cassandra's.

They walked into the circle of black trees. 

The clearing was enormous, a huge open field that was covered with black grass. A breeze ruffled the grass, but everything still felt so strangely featureless and dark, like the things here had never even known the sun. 

At the center of the field was a throne.

The throne was huge, hewn of the same deep black stone as the rest of the city. It was big enough to seat a dragon comfortably. There were intricate designs and carvings etched deep into the stone, and had it been colors other than black, surely it would have been very beautiful. As it was, it was simply dark. 

Before it was Corypheus, crumpled and bleeding. 

They halted, then pressed on carefully. Corypheus appeared not to notice them, and the darkness of the clearing seemed to swallow him. He was the one colorful spot in the vast sea of blackness.

When they were close enough, he spotted him, and they froze. 

“You,” he hissed. “Thief.” 

“And you,” Arethin said, her fingers curling on her staff. “The would-be god.”

He dragged himself to his feet, but made no move to attack. His silver eyes reflected the light of the sky above.

“What is it you wish?” he growled. “I have come here to claim this throne. But I cannot. I can do nothing more. It all remains black. There is no power to claim.”

“No,” Solas said. “There was no power here, not the way you saw it.”

Corypheus shook his head, his mouth pulled at by his scars. “We sought the light,” he breathed. “But all was black. Nothingness. The world had no one to lead it. Nothing. We had come on orders from...no one. The orders were of our own construction, our own mad reflections in the Fade.”

“So,” Arethin said. “What do you want to do now?” they circled him, and he watched them, silver eyes cold and weary. 

“Now? Now there is nothing more to be done. Your world will crumble on its own weight. There is no one to lead it, no one to guide, nothing to fight for.” he bared his teeth. “All that we had done. The blood and fire and the glory of Tevinter—was for nothing. Ashes and shadow, death and ruin. Entropy consumed everything.” he stared up towards the sky. “How could it not? There was no one to correct the course.” 

Arethin looked at him, traced the lines of his ruined face with her gaze. 

“And?” she said. “What shall it be now?”

“Nothing.” he did not look away from her, her eyes meeting his. “Do you not understand? I have come to the heavens—the throne of the gods is empty. But this—this is not even the throne of a true god.” he gestured towards the massive black throne. “No Maker. No Elgar'nan. No Old God. Nothing.”

“You must have seen that the first time you came here,” Arethin said. “Why didn't you realize that until now?”

“I came here and saw an empty throne,” Corypheus said. “But this place—you do not know what the world was before we came here. We came to the world of dreams, and it was—so much more than we had ever known. Yet there was nothing. And the great mockery, the great joke—those rattus whose insignificant city we destroyed—this place was _theirs_. They had come here before us, and found it empty, and filled it with their pathetic people.” he glared at Solas. “We thought we had been to places never been. But someone else was already there. Our world was subject to the whims of another who could not even claim to be a god.”

Corypheus stared up at the throne, reaching out to trace a carving with one of his long talons. 

“So we left—we could not hear the words of our gods. We thought we had made a mistake, and we ran, like cowards,” his mouth twisted. “Like frightened animals, back into the world. But the poison followed us. Black and relentless. Never ceasing.” he turned his gaze to them again. “Will it follow you as well?” he wondered. 

“Perhaps,” Arethin said. “Perhaps not. After all,” she looked around, then looked back to him. “This is the place of my ancient mothers and fathers. And here, I hold the Dread Wolf's blessing in my hand,” she held out her marked hand. “Perhaps you failed because you were not meant to be here. One can only make so many trespasses.”

Corypheus looked up at the sky. “How gratifying,” he growled. “To know that your ancestors look kindly upon you. You have several in your midst, I understand it.”

“I do. Is that something you care about?”

“No.” he looked back down at her. “The world is fire and chaos. I would have brought it order. I can do nothing.” he shook his head. 

“I see that we are back at the beginning,” Arethin said. “What will you do?”

“I could not say,” he admitted. “I have wrought nothing here.”

They looked at each other for some time.

“And you?” he tilted his head to one side. “What will you do?”

Arethin looked to Cassandra, then Solas.

“Kill him,” Cassandra said immediately. “He cannot be allowed to live.”

“How are we even to accomplish that?” Arethin demanded. “It didn't work the last two times.”

“There are no Wardens or Templars here now,” Solas said. “And there are no Blighted creatures. Perhaps destroying his body will leave his spirit nowhere to go.”

“Perhaps.” she shook her head and looked back at Corypheus.

“This tires me,” Corypheus said. He sighed. “I am simply...very tired,” he said. “Do as you will. I have tried too many times and failed too many times.”

Arethin lowered her staff. She put one foot in front of the other, and walked very slowly to him.

“Arethin!” Cassandra hissed, but Arethin continued to walk.

Finally, Arethin stood before Corypheus. She was again struck by the sheer _size_ of him. He towered over her, and she barely came up to his waist. 

Now, however, without his army and his dragon and his all-consuming purpose, he seemed...smaller. 

He looked down at her. She stared up into his silver eyes. 

“I thought you were a monster,” she said. “Nothing I have seen has changed that. But...” she tilted her head to one side, examining him. 

He said nothing.

“You've nothing left,” she told him. “Your army is gone. Your purpose is gone. Everything is gone. You're just...empty.”

Like a dark room exposed to daylight. 

“Why are you still here?” she asked him. “Your time was up a long, long time ago.” 

He sighed and closed his eyes, leaned against the throne. “I am so tired,” he murmured. 

“Then _go_ ,” Arethin said. “Leave this place. There is nothing keeping you here. The world has abandoned you.”

“And you, thief,” he said. “Are you the voice of this new world? Is it your law that is declared?”

“Who is to say?” Arethin shrugged. “Maybe.”

He chuckled. “'Maybe...'” His silver eyes went dark. His body began to crumble, his skin turning ashen, everything turning to dust. “'Maybe...'”

He crumbled away completely, and the breeze that blew through the black grass scattered the dust to the wind. 

Arethin stared at the spot where he'd been. 

“Arethin...” Cassandra murmured, coming up behind her and taking her hand.

“That was it,” Arethin said. “That was...all I had to do.” her chest felt tight. 

“One can either adapt to change, or they cannot,” Solas said. “Now—we have other work that must be done.”

Arethin shook herself. “Yes, of course—the Veil. How do we do this?” 

Solas looked up at the throne. “It was in this place that I constructed it,” he said. “So you should be able to try and find a central point to take it apart.”

“Just like that?”

“It is probably rather more difficult than that, but we must at least try.”

Arethin sighed, and reached out with her magic. 

It was an immediate shock, and she jumped, surprised, stumbling over her feet. Cassandra caught her arm. 

“ _Carefully_ ,” Solas said. 

Arethin frowned to herself and tried again, this time reaching out more slowly. 

The world around her teemed with magic, more than she'd ever felt. Like the very first time she closed a rift, it was as if she'd put her arm into a pool of water.

“I can—feel something,” she said, and indeed she did. There was something strange, that wasn't meant to be there. She reached out with her hand and took hold of it. A spell, she knew that from the beginning.

“Here,” Solas breathed. “Think of it as a knot. I wished to cut it—but you wish to undo it.”

She reached out with her hand, and magic thrummed through her. 

“Be careful,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. 

“What will happen?” Arethin asked. “What's going to happen if we do this?”

Solas shook his head. “I don't know,” he said. 

“Solas--”

“I truly do not know, my friend,” he said, looking her dead in the eye. “I had plans. They changed.” 

She gave a chuckle that could hardly be called such. She cradled the strange spell in her hand. Indeed it felt like a knot, and she tested it, trying to find the end. It would be so easy to just smash it. 

But that would be the wrong choice.

It was delicate, like a massive crystal, and as soon as she thought of that the edges of the spell grew harder. She furrowed her brow.

Like a knot, she insisted, like a string.

She found one end, and pulled on it.

Everything began to shake. She continued to pull, untangling it, and felt the spell cutting her hand, blood running down her palm, but she could not stop, could not let go--

The world cracked. 

Her knees buckled, and suddenly both Cassandra and Solas were on either side of her, holding her up. 

“I believe that is the start of it,” Solas said in her ear. He reached out and took her marked hand in his own. She felt strength flow into her. “Keep going. Do not stop.”

With her other hand, Arethin grabbed Cassandra and pulled her close. 

“I love you,” she said, over and over. “I love you, I love you--”

Cassandra held her so tight it was bruising, and Arethin continued to undo the knot. Her hands were bleeding, and everything became so bright it was difficult to bear. The darkness receded from the city, and she saw what it must have been like when it was young, colorful and full of brilliance--

She could hear the sound of wings--

The world came collapsing down upon them, and Arethin lost sight of everything. Everything vanished, and for a time, she floated in darkness. Everything was very, very far away. 

It was alright, she realized. Everything was alright. 

So things went. 

The world began to come back, and she realized that time was passing again. She could hear the sound of wind, and feel something cold under her back.

Arethin opened her eyes and realized she was laying on the ground. The stone was cold underneath her, and her bones hummed. She blinked, not remembering how she'd gotten there.

Then it came back in a rush.

“Cassandra?” Arethin reached out, grabbed for Cassandra, and found her wrist.

“Arethin?” Cassandra gasped, grabbing her hand in return. 

“Ma vhenan,” Arethin said. “Vhenan, vhenan--”

“Are you alright?” Cassandra asked, pulling Arethin close. 

“'m fine,” she mumbled. “I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine,”

Arethin's mark no longer hurt. It was—it felt right, no longer strange or foreign, the magic bubbling up within her and almost spilling over.

“I feel--” she choked. “I feel--” she stared down at her hand, and the green of the mark sparked in almost a friendly way.

Arethin felt like there was a light inside her, like everything was more real than it had ever been. As if she had been in a fog, in a dream, and only now she was awake. Everything was sharp and Cassandra's hair smelled like ashes and she looked up at the sky and there was light—so much light, the stars were so bright, as they had never been before. 

“Come on,” Arethin said, pulling Cassandra to her feet. 

“I feel,” Cassandra said. “Like everything is well.”

“Me too.” 

Cassandra had a cut on her cheek, blood trickled down to drip off her chin. 

“Cassandra,” Arethin said. “You have...” she reached up, brushed her thumb against the cut. 

The cut was smoothed away, leaving Cassandra's face free of injuries.

“What?” Cassandra asked. She touched her face, saw blood on her hand, but felt nothing. She looked down at Arethin, eyes wide. “Oh...” she reached out, and brushed tears off of Arethin's cheeks. “It is alright,” she said with a tiny smile.

Arethin gave her a smile in return.

They looked around, and realized they were back at the top of the tower in Aeonar.

Arethin couldn't feel the strangeness in the Veil. With a jolt, she realized she could feel the Veil not at all. 

She knew there were spirits near her, and she felt joy, and shock, and confusion, a whirl of emotions like a crowd of people near her.

And that was fine. 

Nearby was Solas, staring at the sky and leaning heavily against the wall. Solas was crying, but didn't seem to be upset. 

“Are you alright?' she asked him 

He nodded. 

“Is this what it's supposed to be like?”

He looked at her and smiled, an open smile that she had never seen on his face before. “Oh, yes,” Solas said. 

He reached out, and cradled her marked hand in his. His smile grew wider, and he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, but the tears didn't stop. 

“You are well,” he said, voice breaking. “Do you see? This does not hurt you.”

Arethin nodded. “No,” she agreed. “No, it doesn't.” she glanced around. “We should—we should go and find the others, shouldn't we?” 

Solas and Cassandra nodded, and after a few false starts, they went back down the tower stairs. Everyone was there, just at the bottom, but seemed to be having a bit of trouble orienting themselves.

“Kadan!” Bull saw Solas and swept him up in an embrace. “What did you do?” he demanded. “Are you alright?” he brushed a tear from Solas' cheek. 

“I'm fine,” Solas breathed, and laughed. “How are you? The Veil is gone. What do you feel?”

“This isn't--” Bull didn't seem to have the words. “I thought—i don't know what I thought it would be like.”

“What do you think now?”

“I don't know,” Bull admitted. 

“Is this how things are supposed to be?” Dorian asked, blinking. “I feel—better. Yes. I feel better. My head feels—it feels like it's mine, does that make any sense?”

“I feel good,” Sera gave a nervous laugh, and promptly tripped, falling onto her backside. “'s magic! Right? Is that what it is?”

They all made their way out of the fortress, which felt almost welcoming in comparison to how it had felt befoe. 

“I feel...I don't know how I feel,” Cassandra said. “This is...I don't know anything anymore.”

“Does that matter?” Arethin asked, looking up at the stars. 

“How could we have been afraid of this?” she murmured. 

Arethin turned to Solas. “The Evanuris,” Arethin said. “Will they be back? Do you know?”

“They may try to return,” Solas said with a smirk. “That does not mean they will succeed.”

“No?”

“No. You have changed too much—their power is so much less than it has ever been.”

Arethin nodded. There was another matter that had to be decided, however. “So?” she said. “Do you still wish to change this world back?”

Solas shook his head. “No,” he breathed. “You—repaired it. You...what I would have done isn't...” he stopped. 

Arethin smiled, and reached out to take his hand in hers. “I know you want them back,” she said. “But we are here. And we have fixed it.”

He met her eyes and smiled. “Your mark is healed,” he said, wrapping his fingers around her left hand. “I could not say for certain, but if that is so, then you are healed too. And if you are whole, so are your people. So are all of our people.”

Her eyes widened.


	37. A Place To Spend The Rest Of Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me.

They returned to Skyhold. Their army limped back, everyone feeling strange and weary and confused. Many people kept having problems with magic, but at the same time, there were no demons, no monsters, none of the horrible things that were supposed to happen. Just fires and things being flung about. Simple fixes. 

When they went back through the eluvian, the flowers in the Crossroads were all in full bloom. The colors were brighter and more real, and everything felt far more alive than it had been before. 

“Has it always looked like this?” Cassandra asked, reaching out to touch a blooming flower.

“Like what?” Arethin said.

“It was...dim and gray before,” Cassandra said. “I still feel as if...as if I am on the deck of a ship, but the colors are...brighter.”

“It was...strange, before,” Arethin said. “Sometimes bright, and sometimes full of mist.” she looked at the flowers and the sun overhead. “This is...different. You're right.” 

“The magic is being revived,” Solas said. 

“I thought this'd be creepy,” Sera said. “But it's—not,” she opened her hand, and ice coated her palm, snowflakes developing on the tips of her fingers for a moment. She laughed. “It's not! How is that for weird?” 

“What's different about it now?” Arethin asked.

“I don't feel—it feels normal,” Sera said. “Like—like if my leg'd gone to sleep, and then woke up again. Only I didn't know I even had a leg to go to sleep. See?” she laughed again, sounding giddy. “And I was afraid of a stupid leg!”

Everyone seemed to be in such a shape, everything in disarray and chaos, but people weren't necessarily angry about it.

The remnants of the Chantry were all distinctly unhappy, even going so far as to completely denounce the Inquisition as heretics. 

“What will you do about that?” Arethin asked Cassandra, who merely sighed and shook her head.

“I will...we will decide in the future,” she said. “I have very little patience for them, when so much else needs to be put into order.”

“I suppose they must be feeling upset,” Arethin said. “That magic was not such a terrible thing after all.”

The eluvians were easier to open than they ever were before, and opened not just to places in the physical world, but strange old ruins and buildings that had been created in spaces in between. There were huge palaces and libraries and gardens and even forests in between, full of magic and mysteries that people longed to explore. With so much space in the Crossroads, many elves simply moved there, and the territory of the Dales became more of a country for those who had human friends and families. 

Keeper Merrill moved out of Skyhold, to occupy one of those in-between spaces, a strange library full of useful books and friendly spirits. Not only did her Clan accompany her, but many of her friends, including Lady Hawke, visited her there as well. 

Orlais reeled. Empress Giuseppina was unhappy, and tried to get the Inquisition and the Chantry to cooperate with each other, but was not having much success.

Briala left Skyhold to help coordinate things in Halam'shiral, to try and help anyone who asked for citizenship in the Dales and indeed, to try and create the sort of country she would want to live in. It was a difficult process, made much harder by the presence of so much magic, but Briala found herself relishing the challenge. She hardly thought of Celene at all. 

Any Tranquil who had not yet been cured by Pharamond were immediately revived--it seemed that Tranquility required a Veil to work, and without the Veil, such a thing could not be possible. They were, by all accounts, ecstatic, and ecstatic about feeling that way in the first place.

Some others were greatly displeased, Aveline and Fenris among them. For Fenris still detested magic and Aveline had, after all, married a Templar long ago. There was little to be done, however, and so Fenris and Aveline vowed to use the magic they did have better than those who came before them. 

The dwarves began to have dreams, which was quite alarming to them (as well as an unforeseen side effect of the Veil removal), and they had yet to adjust. Varric found he rather liked dreams, once he got used to them. Stories playing in the mind while one slept. Dagna as well, often woke Sera up in the middle of the night to excitedly describe a new invention she had dreamt. 

This dreaming and magic was quite fascinating to Orzammar. Zevran Arainai found himself in sudden possession of a magical gift, and he quite liked the change. Queen Aeducan wasn't sure about either the dreams or the magic, but they seemed to be reasonably harmless in her estimation, so it was alright.

The Sentinels were also pleased when the Veil was removed. They departed from Skyhold, desiring to try and find others of their kind. Perhaps more like them had survived into this age, and with the Veil gone, they would be more likely to wake.

Felassan, for his part, decided to follow Briala around. Solas was very quietly relieved about this. 

The mages were happy. But then, everyone was a mage, now. 

The world felt as if it had let out a breath, and this was the space between taking another one. It was strange. It was so strange. 

For now, everyone waited in the aftermath. 

They'd come back to Skyhold, and no one had yet decided what they were going to do next. Even Surana and Morrigan, commonly wanderers, stayed at the fortress.

Those who hadn't had magic before were busy adjusting. Sera and Iron Bull were both utterly fascinated, despite their apprehensions about magic before. Vivienne was actually greatly pleased, now that mages could no longer be singled out by those without magic. She thought that the removal of the Veil was akin to letting everyone play with matches, but even so, she could not help a bit of pleasure now that everyone knew what it was like to have magic. There could be no peasants attacking lone mages, now that they all were mages.

Dorian didn't see that things were very different, but enjoyed how his companions were dealing with their new-found magic all the same. Dorian's dwarven paramour was rather more hesitant about magic, but he came out alright.

Cole, as a spirit, didn't display magic quite the same as the others did, but he was pleased with Arethin's choice in any case, as it meant that spirits would no longer be hurt so much upon crossing to the physical world.

Solas could not bring his own people back—he had promised Arethin that if her solution worked, he would not try his own, and it seemed that the world was no longer in such peril. The loss of Elvhenan still felt like a great gaping wound, something that could never be fully healed. 

But now there was magic again, and the People themselves were healed of their own wound, the mistake he had made. The Veil, that terrible imposition, was lifted, and the elves were themselves again, long-lived and full of magic. 

Solas could live with that, because he would no longer be so alone. Even if he couldn't bring the elves of old back, at least the elves that lived now would no longer suffer because of his mistakes. 

In the wake of the Veil's removal, Solas stayed close to Skyhold, near to both Arethin and to Iron Bull. Both were very glad of his company, albeit for very different reasons.

So it was during this time of strangeness that Cassandra and Arethin stood out on the balcony in the early morning, just before the sunrise.

Cassandra held her close, and Arethin leaned into her side. 

The air was full of magic, and Arethin had not stopped feeling the novelty of it. She fancied that everything up until then had been a dream, and this was real. That was what it felt like. She felt like everything in her and everything in the world was more solid, more real, more true than it had been, and even if it wasn't all good, it was better than it had been.

Things would be coming. Storms and monsters and magic, everything that was asleep waking up. 

But the two of them were here. They were together, and despite all the chaos, and everything that was coming, the world felt right around them. 

“There will be so much to do,” Cassandra murmured. 

“I know,” Arethin said. “And we will do it.”

“Of course,” Cassandra smiled. “I could hardly expect anything less.” 

“Oh—look at that,” Arethin said, glancing up. 

The sun was rising, splitting the gray sky with brilliant light, making the clouds turn vivid pinks and yellows. 

The dawn had finally come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Look up! We have repealed the laws of gravity, torn off the ceiling of the world that was so very low. The skies are yours.”_  
>  Miracleman, issue #16
> 
> _"Nothing ends that isn't something else starting."_  
>  The Invisibles, volume #3
> 
> THE END


End file.
